THORNTON'S STORY
It was very much like Tom Slade that this altogether sensational disclosure and startling announcement did not greatly agitate him, nor even make him especially curious. The fact that this seductive stranger was his friend seemed the one outstanding reality to him. If he had any other feelings, of humiliation at being so completely deceived, or of disappointment, he did not show them. But he did reiterate in that dull way of his, "You got to tell me who you are."
"I'm going to tell, Slady," his friend said, with a note of sincerity there was no mistaking; "I'm going to tell you the whole business. What did you ever steal? An apple out of a grocery store, or something like that? I thought so. You wouldn't know how to steal if you tried; you'd make a bungle of it."
"That's the way I do, sometimes," Tom said.
"Is it? Well, you didn't this time—old man. If I'm your friend, I'm going to be worth it. Do you get that?"
"I told you you was."
"Slady, I never knew what I was going to get up against, or I would never have tried to swing this thing. If you'd turned out to be a different kind of a fellow I wouldn't have felt so much like a sneak. It's you that makes me feel like a criminal—not those sleuths and bloodhounds out there. Listen, Slady; it's a kind of a camp-fire story, as you would call it, that I'm going to tell you."
He laid his hand on Tom's arm as he talked and so they sat there on the rough sill of the cabin doorway, Tom silent, the other eager, anxious, as he related his story. The birds flitted about and chirped in the trees overhead, busy with their morning games or tasks, and below the voices of scouts could be heard, thin and spent by the distance, and occasionally the faint sound of a diver with accompanying shouts and laughter which Tom seemed to hear as in a dream. Far off, beyond the mountains, could be heard the shrill whistle of a train, bringing scouts, perhaps, to crowd the already filled tent space. And amid all these distant sounds which, subdued, formed a kind of outdoor harmony, the voice of Tom's companion sounded strangely in his ear.
"My home is out in Broadvale, Ohio, Slady. Ever hear of it? It's west of Dansburg—about fifty miles. I worked in a lumber concern out there. Can you guess the rest? Here's what did it, Slady, (and with admirable dexterity he went through the motions of shuffling cards and shooting craps). I swiped a hundred, Slady. Don't ask me why I did it—I don't know—I was crazy, that's all. So now what have you got to say?" he inquired with a kind of recklessness, releasing Tom's arm.
"I ain't got anything to say," said Tom.
"They don't know it yet, Tommy, but they'll know it Monday. The accountants are on the job Monday. So I beat it, while the going was good. I started east, for little old New York. I intended to change my name and get a job there and lay low till I could make good. I thought they'd never find me in New York. My right name is Thornton, Slady. Red Thornton they call me out home, on account of this brick dome. Tommy, old boy, as sure as you sit there I don't know any more about the boy scouts than a pig knows about hygiene. So now you've got my number, Slady. What is it? Quits?"
"If you knew anything about scouts," Tom said, with the faintest note of huskiness in his voice, "you'd know that they don't call quits. If I was a quitter, do you suppose I'd have stuck up here?"
Thornton gazed about him at the three new cabins, which this queer friend of his had built there to rectify a trifling act of forgetfulness; he looked at Tom's torn shirt, through which his bruised shoulder could be seen, and at those tough scarred hands.
"So now you know something about them," Tom said.
"I know something about one of them, anyway," Thornton replied admiringly.
"If a fellow sticks in one way, he'll stick in another way," Tom said. "If he makes up his mind to a thing——"
"You said it, Slady," Thornton concurred, giving Tom a rap on the shoulder. "And now you know, you won't tell? You won't tell that I've gone to New York?" he added with sudden anxiety.
"Who would I tell?" Tom asked. "Nobody ever made me do anything yet that I didn't want to do." Which was only too true.
Thornton crossed one knee over the other and talked with more ease and assurance. "I met Barnard on the train coming east, Slady. He has red hair like mine, so I thought I'd sit down beside him; we harmonized."
Tom could not repress a smile. "He told me in a letter that he had red hair," he observed.
"Red as a Temple Camp sunset, Tommy old boy. You're going to like that fellow; he's a hundred per cent, white—only for his hair. He's got scouting on the brain—clean daft about it. He told me all about you and how he and his crew of kids were going to spend August here and make things lively. Your crowd——"
"Troop," Tom said.
"Right-o; your troop had better look out for that bunch—excuse me, troop. Right? I'm learning, hey? I'll be a good scout when I get out of jail," he added soberly. "Never mind; listen. Barnard thinks you're the only scout outside of Dansburg, Ohio. He told me how he was coming here to give you a little surprise call before the season opened and the kids—guys—scouts, right-o, began coming. Tom," he added seriously, "by the time we got to Columbus, I knew as much about Temple Camp and you, as he did. He didn't know so much about you either, if it comes to that. But I found out that you were pretty nearly all alone here.
"Then he got a wire, Tom; I think it was in Columbus. A brakeman came through the train with a message, calling his name. Oh, boy, but he was piffed! 'Got to go home,' he said. That's all there was to it, Tom. Business before pleasure, hey? Poor fellow, I felt sorry for him. He found out he could get a train back in about an hour.
"Tommy, listen here. It wasn't until my train started and I looked back and waved to him out of the window, that this low down game I've put over on you occurred to me. All the time that we were chatting together, I was worried, thinking about what I'd do and where I'd go, and how it would be on the first Monday in August when those pen and ink sleuths got the goods on me. I could just see them going over my ledger, Slady.
"Well, I looked out of the car window and there stood Barnard, and the sun was just going down, Tommy, just like you and I have watched it do night after night up here, and that red hair of his was just shining in the light. It came to me just like that, Slady," Thornton said, clapping his hands, "and I said to myself, I'm like that chap in one way, anyhow, and he and this fellow Slade have never seen each other. Why can't I go up to that lonely camp in the mountains and be Billy Barnard for a while? Why can't I lie low there till I can plan what to do next? That's what I said, Slady. Wouldn't a place like that be better than New York? Maybe you'll say I took a long chance—reckless. That's the way it is with red hair, Slady. I took a chance on you being easy and it worked out, that's all. Or rather, I mean it didn't, for I feel like a murderer, and it's all on account of you, Slady.
"I didn't know what to do, I didn't know where to go; I just wanted to get away from home before the game was up and they nabbed me. It's no fun being pinched, Tom. I thought I might make the visit that this friend of yours was going to make, and hang around here where it's quiet and lonesome, till it was time for him to come. I guess that's about as far as my plans carried. It was a crazy idea, I see that well enough now. But I was rattled—I was just rattled, that's all. I thought that when the time came that I'd have to leave here, maybe I could tramp up north further and change my name again and get a job on some farm or other, till I could earn a little and make good. What I didn't figure on was the kind of a fellow I was going to meet. I—I——" he stammered, trying to control himself in a burst of feeling and clutching Tom's knee, "I—I didn't put it over on you, Tom; maybe it seems that way to you—but—but I didn't. It's you that win, old man—can't you see? It's you that win. You've put it all over me and rubbed it in, and—and—instead of getting away with anything—like I thought—I'll just beat it away from here feeling like a bigger sneak than I ever thought I was. I've—I've seen something here—I have. I thought some of these trees were made of pretty good stuff, but you've got them beat, Slady. I thought I was a wise guy to dig into this forsaken retreat and slip the bandage over your eyes, but—but the laugh is on me, Slady, don't—don't you see?" he smiled, his eyes glistening and his hand trembling on Tom's knee. "You've put it all over me, you old hickory-nut, and I've told you the whole business, and you've got me in your power, see?"
Tom Slade looked straight ahead of him and said never a word.
"It's—it's a knockout, Slady, and you win. You can go down and tell old Uncle Jeb the whole business," he fairly sobbed, "I won't stop you. I'm sick and discouraged—I might as well take my medicine—I'm—I'm sick of the whole thing—you win—Slady. I'll wait here—I—I won't fool you again—not once again, by thunder, I won't! Go on down and tell him a thief has been bunking up here with you—go on—I'll wait."
There was just a moment of silence, and in that moment, strangely enough, a merry laugh arose in the camp below.
"You needn't tell me what to do," said Tom, "because I know what to do. There's nobody in this world can tell me what to do. Mr. Burton, he wanted to write to those fellows and fix it. But I knew what to do. Do you call me a quitter? You see these cabins, don't you? Do you think you can tell me what to do?"
"Go and send a wire to Broadvale and tell 'em that you've got me," Thornton said with a kind of bitter resignation; "I heard that scouts are good at finding missing people—fugitives. You—you have got me, Tommy, but in a different way than you think. You got me that first night. Go ahead. But—but listen here. I can't let them take me to-day, my head is spinning like a buzz-saw, Tommy—I can't, I can't, I can't! It's the cut in my head. All this starts it aching again—it just——"
He lowered his head until his wounded forehead rested on Tom's lap. "I'm—I'm just—beaten," he sobbed. "Let me stay here to-day, to-night—don't say anything yet—let me stay just this one day more with you and to-morrow I'll be better and you can go down and tell. I won't run away—don't you believe me? I'll take what's coming to me. Only wait—my head is all buzzing again now—just wait till to-morrow. Let me stay here to-day, old man ..."
Tom Slade lifted the head from his lap and arose. "You can't stay here to-night," he said; "you can't stay even to-day. You can't stay an hour. Nobody can tell me what I ought to do. You can't stay here ten minutes. If you tried to get away I'd trail you, I'd catch you. You stay where you are till I get back."