Tom Slade at Black Lake

by Percy Keese Fitzhugh

"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."