He had passed around another bend of this sequestered, lofty trail, when he saw Whalen sitting on a rock some hundred feet or so distant. His back was toward Tom, for he had turned about and had somewhat altered his sitting posture to gaze at the darkening panorama in the extensive country below.
As he thus sprawled unaware of Tom’s approach, the latter’s eye was caught by something shiny on the rock. As he approached nearer, he saw it was an open jack-knife.
As soon as Whalen became aware of Tom he turned about, which was natural, but it seemed to Tom that there was something unnatural in the new attitude. He fancied a trace of agitation about Whalen, which was quite unlike him. As he approached it seemed as if Whalen were on the point of coming to meet him but decided suddenly to remain where he was.
“H’lo, Ned,” said Tom cheerily. “Taking a walk? Or a rest, I mean?”
Perhaps it was because Whalen did not think and act quickly enough, or perhaps it was because it was repugnant to his nature to indulge an impulse to concealment; or it may have been that in that short moment of panic he found a kind of cynical abandonment the easiest course. Whatever the cause, he made no additional effort to conceal certain carvings on the rock.
Tom saw that the jack-knife had been used to scrape the gray mold out of the letters comprising two names, one carved above the other.
The carving, apparently, was by no means as old as much of the idle handiwork along the path for the figures 1907 were cut beneath the two names. Nor had the work that appearance of creditable care about it which characterized some of the other specimens; the letters were sprawling and irregular. But the names were easy enough to read and Tom Slade, with more presence of mind than Whalen showed, read them aloud without the least suggestion of astonishment or even interest.
“Anson Dicker or Dyker—Joe Ganley. Huh. Wonder who those fellows were, hey? Couple of wearie willies maybe. Any objection to me sitting down and resting, Ned? I don’t see much of you these days. Nice and quiet along in here, hey?”
CHAPTER XXVI
TOM IS TROUBLED