"I wouldn't do yer no hurt," he assured Pee-wee. "I t'ought mebbe yer wuz a de-coy. Yer ain't, are ye?" he asked suspiciously.
"No, I'm not," said Pee-wee, "I'm just what I told you——"
"I ain't goin' ter leave ye go free, so ye might's well shut up. I seen pals double-cross me—them ez I trusted, too. Yer square, I guess—only innercent."
"I'd keep my word even with—I'd keep my word with you," said Pee-wee, "just the same as with anyone. Besides, I don't see what's the use of keeping me here. You'll have to let me go some time, you can't keep me here forever, and you can't stay here forever, yourself."
"If ye stan' right 'n' show ye're game," said the convict, "thar won't no hurt come to ye. This here car's way-billed fer Buff'lo, 'n' I'm waitin' ter be took up now. It's a grain car. Yer ain't goin' ter peach wot I tell ye, now? I wuz put wise to it afore I come out by a railroad bloke. I had it straight these here cars would be picked up fer Buff'lo the nex' day after I done my trick. But they ain't took 'em up yet, an' I'm close ter starvin' here."
Pee-wee could not help but feel a certain sympathy with this man, wretch though he was, who on the information of some accomplice outside the prison, had made his escape expecting to be carried safely away the next day and had been crouching, half-starved, in this freight car ever since, waiting.
"What will you do if they don't take up the car for a week?" he asked. "They might look inside of it, too; or they might change their minds about taking it."
He was anxious for himself for he contemplated with terror his threatened imprisonment, but he could not help being concerned also for this miserable creature and he wondered what would happen if they both remained in the car for several days more, with nothing to eat. Then, surely, the man would be compelled to put a little faith in him and let him go out in search of food. He wondered what he should do in that case—what he ought to do; but that, he realized, was borrowing trouble. Mr. Ellsworth, his scoutmaster, had once said that it is always bad to play false. Well, then, would it be bad to play false with an escaped felon—to double-cross him? Pee-wee did not know.
His companion interrupted his train of thought "They don' look inside o' way-billed empties—not much," he said, "an' they don't let 'em stan' so long, nuther. I got bad luck, I did, from doin' my trick on a Friday. They'll be 'long pretty quick, though. They reckisitioned all th' empty grain cars fer Buff'lo. I'm lookin' ter hear th' whistle any minute, I am, an' I got a pal waitin' fer me in the yards up ter Buff'lo, wid the duds. When I get there 'n' get me clo's changed, mebbe I'll leave ye come back if me pal 'n' me thinks ye kin be trusted."
"I can be trusted now just as much as I could be trusted then," said Pee-wee, greatly disturbed at the thought of this enforced journey; "and how could I get back? I guess maybe you don't know anything about scouts—maybe they weren't started when you were—— Anyway, a scout can be trusted. Anybody'll tell you that. If he gives his word he'll keep it. I don't know anything about what you did and if you ask me if I want to see you get captured I couldn't tell you, because I don't know how I feel. But if you'll let me go now I'll promise not to say anything to anyone. I don't want to go to Buffalo. I want to go to my camp. As long as I know about you, you got to trust me some time and you might as well trust me now."