He had now two ends to accomplish. One was to elude capture, the other to revenge himself on Julius.
While in prison he had heard from a fellow-prisoner that Julius was somewhere in the West. He could not ascertain where. Till to-day he had no clew whereby he might discover him; when all at once chance brought him face to face with his young enemy. In spite of his growth he recognized the boy, for he seldom forgot a face; but, to make certainty more certain, he lounged into the office after Julius had recorded his name, and examined the signature.
“Julius Taylor,” he repeated to himself. “The young cub has picked up another name since he left us. But it’s he—it’s the same Julius. I thought I couldn’t be mistaken. His face is the same, though he’s almost twice as large as he was. He little dreams that Dan Marlowe is on his track. I’d like to wring the boy’s neck!” he muttered to himself. “He’s cost me over two years in Sing Sing; and poor Jack’s there yet.”
Having satisfied himself, he went back to his seat on the piazza.
Pretty soon Julius came out, and gave a casual look{207} at Marlowe. But the latter had his hat pulled down over his eyes, and not enough of his features could be seen for our hero to distinguish him. Besides, Julius was not thinking of Marlowe. He had no reason to suspect that his old companion was in the neighborhood. If not caught, he supposed that he was somewhere in hiding in the city of New York, or nearby.
Marlowe did not, however, care to run even a small risk of discovery. He had not changed as much as Julius, and the latter might probably recognize him. So, finding that our hero had also seated himself outside, he quietly arose from his chair, and went out to walk.
“An ill-looking fellow,” thought Julius, casually. “He looks like a tramp.”
Marlowe strolled off at random, not caring where he went. His sole object was to keep out of the way of Julius. He went perhaps a mile, and then, turning into a field, sat down on the grass. Here he remained for a long time. He did not set out on his return till he judged that it was near ten o’clock. When he entered the inn, not Julius alone, but all the other guests had retired; for in the country late hours are not popular.
“We were just going to shut up, Mr. Jones,” said the landlord.
Jones was the assumed name by which Marlowe now passed.{208}