ROSCOE JOINS THE COLORS
It was now nearly dark, and Tom worked his way along slowly, hobbling
where there were no trees, and grateful for their support when he found
them bordering the trail. His foot pained him exquisitely and he still
felt weak and dizzy.
At last, after almost superhuman efforts, he brought himself within
sight of the dark outline of the shack, which seemed more lonesome and
isolated than ever before. He saw that the light was from a fire in the
clearing near by, and a smaller light was discernible in the window of
the shack itself.
Tom had always stood rather in awe of Roscoe Bent, as one of humble
origin and simple ways is apt to feel toward those who live in a
different world. And even now, in this altogether strange situation and
with all the advantages both of right and courage on his side, he could
not repress something of the same feeling, as he approached the little
camp.
He dragged himself to within a few feet of the fire and stood clutching
a tree and leaning against it as Roscoe Bent, evidently startled, came
out and faced him.
A pathetic and ghastly figure Tom must have looked to the fugitive, who
stood staring at him, lantern in hand, as if Tom were some ghostly
scarecrow dropped from the clouds.
"It's me--Tom Slade," Tom panted. "You--needn't be scared."
Roscoe looked suspiciously about him and peered down the dark trail
behind Tom.
"What are _you_ doing here?" he demanded roughly. "Is anybody with you?
Who'd you bring----"
"No, there ain't," said Tom, almost reeling. His weakness and the fear
of collapsing before he could speak gave him courage, but he forgot the
little speech which he had prepared, and poured out a torrent which
completely swept away any little advantage of self-possession that
Roscoe might have had.
"I didn't bring anybody!" he shouted weakly. "Do you think I'm a spy?
Did you ever know a scout that was a _sneak_? Me and you--are all alone
here. I knew you was here. I _knew_ you'd come here, because you're
_crazy_. I seen--saw--"
It was characteristic of Tom that on the infrequent occasions when he
became angry, or his feelings got the better of him, he would fall into
the old illiterate phraseology of Barrel Alley. He steadied himself
against the tree now and tried to speak more calmly.
"D'you think just 'cause you jollied me and made a fool out of me in
front of Miss Ellison that I wouldn't be a friend to you? Do you
think"--he shouted, losing all control of himself--"that because I
didn't know how to talk to you and--and--answer you--like--that I was
a-scared of you? Did you think I couldn't find you easy enough? Maybe
I'm--maybe I'm thick--but when I get on a trail--there's--there's
nothin' can stop me. I got the strength ter strangle _you_--if I wanted
to!" he fairly shrieked.
Then he subsided from sheer exhaustion.
Roscoe Bent had stood watching him as a man might watch a thunderstorm.
"You hurt yourself," he said irrelevantly.
"It says in a paper," panted Tom, "that--that a man that's afraid to die
ain't--fit to live. D'you think I'd leave--I'd let you--stay away and
have people callin' you a coward and a--a slacker--and then
somebody--those secret service fellows--come and get you? I wouldn't let
them get you," he shouted, clutching the tree to steady himself,
"'cause I know the trail, I do--I'm a scout--and _I got here
first_--I----"
His hand slipped from the tree, he reeled and fell to the ground too
quick for Roscoe to catch him.
"It's--it's all right," he muttered, as Roscoe bent over him. "I ain't
hurt.... Roll your coat up tight--you'd know, if you was a scout--and
put it under my neck. I--want a drink--of water.... You got to begin
right now to-night, Rossie, with the Colors; you got to begin--by--by
bein' a Red Cross nurse.... I'm goin' to call you Rossie now--like the
fellers in the bank," he ended weakly, "'cause we're friends to each
other--kind of."