“Shh, don’t call,” Brent repeated; “wait a second.”
They paused in the brush waiting. The figure descended to within a few
feet of the ground, then dropped. He seemed to fall over when he hit the
ground. Then he picked himself up, looked quickly about, and sped into
the woods.
Tom did not know what he thought; there was no time to think. He was
greatly astonished. All in a second there came rushing into his mind the
young workman at the dam saying, “Never heard of him,” and of the
foreman shaking his head negatively at the unfamiliar name. He had
studiously avoided thinking of this, or of speaking of it to Brent on
their journey home. Brent had said nothing and Tom had wondered what he
thought.
Now there was no time to call. The woods were not like a street; Tom
knew not which way the fleeing figure might run.
“Go ahead,” said Brent, “I just wanted to see what he’d do.”
Tom was out of the bushes in a jiffy and running into the woods. Coming
in sight of the fleeing form he called, “Hey, Lawton, wait a second;
what’s the idea?” But Lawton neither paused nor turned.
[Illustration: “HEY, LAWTON, WHAT’S THE IDEA?”]
Now he knew that something was wrong; Lawton heard him but would not
wait. Tom had been running to catch up, as one might say; now he started
in pursuit. He knew how to run in the woods and sped like a deer. Soon
Lawton, fearful, glanced about, and seeing the distance between them
closing up, increased his effort. Probably he had at first thought that
he was unseen. But having continued running after Tom had called, flight
was now his only course.
But it was no use: Tom caught up, passed him, and, turning about, stood
in his path.
“What’s the idea, Lawton?” he panted.
“What’s _your_ idea?” Lawton countered, clearly embarrassed.
“Well, I was expecting to cook supper for you and beat you at pinochle,”
Tom said, unpleasantly. “I didn’t think I’d have to beat you running.
Did you think you could get away from me?”
“You didn’t have to run after me, Slade,” said Lawton looking in a way
of reprimand through his rimless eyeglasses. They gave him a certain
student look which put Tom at the slightest disadvantage. “Did I say
positively that I’d stay for supper?”
“No, but what are you hurrying away for? What’s that you’ve got under
your arm?”
“Why, it’s something that belongs to me,” said Lawton crisply.
“It looks like the salt-box from our cabin,” Tom said. He was trembling
with expectation, yet he hardly knew what more he could do or say.
“I can’t help that,” said Lawton. “You don’t think I stole your
salt-box, do you? You haven’t as much sense of humor as your friend,
Slade. What’s the idea now? I was running because I’m late and in a
hurry to get to the dam; I’ve got to pay off a couple of tree men. Let’s
make it to-morrow.”
For a few seconds Tom looked straight at him. “You’re not running toward
the dam,” he said, “and besides, they never heard of you there, Lawton.”
Lawton winced at this but regained his composure. “You were talking with
Edwards?” he asked, with an air of perfect sincerity.
“Oh, cut it out,” said Tom disgustedly. “I don’t believe there’s any one
there by that name and I think you’re the biggest liar that ever made
fools out of two poor simps, that’s what I think.”
“I suppose you want me to lay this box down and hit you and then you’ll
pick up the box,” said Lawton. “Does the box belong to you? Tell me
that, _does the box belong to you_? Am I stealing anything of yours?
There’s the whole matter at a point. Is it yours?”
“Well--n-no, it isn’t,” Tom acknowledged weakly.
“Well, then, how long do we have to stand talking here?”
“Why, just a few minutes longer,” said a familiar voice.
They both stared at Brent, who had approached through the woods
unperceived. It was characteristic of him that he had not hurried (at
least he had not run), and he carried his customary whimsical and lazy
air of self-possession. He had a paper in his hand, and what with this
and his spectacles and altogether non-combatant manner, he looked as if
he might be a lawyer bent on settling the dispute out of court. In his
other hand he held his flashlight of adventurous memory.
“By the way, Doctor Somers,” said he, “I’m curious to know if you ever
really were in the forestry service; you seem to know so much about it;
you had me puzzled. I kind of suspected you weren’t a tree dentist, but
I never knew you were a doctor. That’s a good front name you’ve
got--Slicksby. Mother’s maiden name? I’ll always think of you as
_Slick_--Slick Somers. Here you go, Tommy, glance at this, that I picked
up under Conner’s elm.”
In the funniest way he handed the paper and flashlight to Tom (for it
was now dusk) as if they were two parts of something to be used. And all
the while he kept his eye on the discomfited Somers.
“Just a minute, alias Lawton,” said Brent. “This is turning out to be a
real adventure after all. You found the money for us. Shall I take it? I
can tell you all about it; that box has three thousand dollars in it
belonging to your old friend out there in Missouri and we knew about it
before you did, only we didn’t know where it was.”
Meantime, Tom was reading the paper. I have that paper now; it is my
souvenir of the big adventure. It consists of about half a sheet of
business letter paper, the lower half, so it contains no printed
heading. I think, however, that it may be the letter paper of some
lawyer. It contains the last part of a typewritten letter and a
signature which I have never taken the trouble to investigate, and which
I shall omit here. This was the letter, or as much of it as the sheet
contained:
not to mention the note on which you forged the signature of
endorser. The other matter about the automobile would
certainly be considered as obtaining money under false
pretenses. I set these two instances before you not as a
threat but simply that you may know that the proceedings, if
the matter is carried to the point of litigation, would
inevitably take the form of a criminal action.
I am as anxious to avoid this as I am sure you must be, and
it was for that reason that I suggested the possibility of
your getting some accommodation in the matter of your salary
at the sanitarium, so as to avert such a sequel.
I assume that this has not been possible. I doubt very much
whether under the circumstances the professional
money-lender would do business with you, as you have
intimated. I have been able, as I say, to secure the promise
which holds the matter in suspense until September 1st, and
I very sincerely hope that you will be able to hit on some
plan of securing the two thousand dollars by that date.
Yours very truly,
(Signature of sender)
To Doctor Slicksby Somers,
State Hospital, Mo.
On the back of this letter are roughly scrawled in lead pencil certain
brief memorandums. These do not appear in sequence, but are written
every which way on the sheet, and their general appearance suggests, I
think, that they were jotted down as they were secured, perhaps with
difficulty, from the person who gave them. Perhaps each memorandum was
the result of patient and discouraging catechizing. Who shall say? I
copy them here in order:
Rattlesnake Gulch near Sandyfield township, Haverstraw, N.
Y. East of Sloatsburg, N. Y. Big pond near--maybe half mile.
Sloatsburg--maybe a little north. Swamp two miles west of
place--about. Cabin--old ruin near well. Well--lots of
brush. Either tree near cabin or near well--over well--elm.
Hole in crotch--second branch. Try trees near cabin first.
Must reach down. Conner’s Hollow other name--could ask. Seth
Borden--or Borsen--if alive could direct to Gulch--Ramapo.
In tin box.
Tom glanced hurriedly over the letter and the not too intelligible notes
on the back of it.
“So you’re the doctor--his doctor--that’s supposed to be in Europe,
huh?” he sneered. “Oh, yes, we know old Mink--and now we know you. Give
me that box, Somers; come, hand it over before I knock you flat, you
low-down sneak!”
Somers had at least the courage to put up a momentary objection to
handing over the box. It may have saved him a little measure of
temporary self-respect. But it did not save him the box. Like lightning
Tom wrenched it from him and sent him sprawling upon the ground.
“All right, Somers,” he said grimly. “Now, if you want to beat it you
can do it. We came here to try and find that box and give it to the poor
old fellow it belongs to----”
“That’s just what I wanted it for,” said Somers.
“Yes, well what have you been lying for, then? What did you start to run
away for? What did you sneak out of my Ford and run away for? What did
you walk away from that well for when there was somebody calling for
help in it? Oh, I was some dub! Somers, you’re the biggest liar and the
dirtiest low-down sneak I ever met in my life! Why, here in black and
white is the proof that you forged somebody’s name. And the other matter
about the automobile--goodness knows what you did there!”
“We appreciate it that you didn’t take our Ford,” said Brent.
“Honest to goodness, Somers,” said Tom earnestly, “when I think of that
poor old codger out there, just getting hold of himself after his life
being a blank all those years, and us waiting around here trying to find
his money for him so we could give it to him and tell him about his old
partner and his kid that’s in an orphan asylum; when I think of him
wandering back here to his old home--why, Somers, I could almost shake
hands with you for finding the box. You turned out to be the missing
link in all this business--honest, I think some good fairy sent you
here, with your lies about forestry and conservation! You’re all right,
Somers, only you don’t get out of any of your scrapes with old Mink’s
money--not unless you can take this box away from me. So you’re the
young doctor that the poor old codger missed so much--oh, yes, you see
we know all about it, we read the western papers.
“Now, Doctor Slick Somers, this old patient of yours is going to show
up. If he doesn’t show up here, he’s going to show up somewhere; he’ll
turn up and the authorities will find him. And we’re going to see to it
that he gets his money.”
“We’re out for adventure,” said Brent.
“Now,” said Tom, “maybe you don’t trust us, and we certainly don’t trust
you. This money don’t belong to any of us. If you want to hang around
and make sure the old man gets it, why, you can sleep in the woodshed if
you want to. But maybe your name will get into the papers, and then the
automobile people may get after you and the guy whose name you forged
and---- Now, wouldn’t you say it was better just to beat it and let us
take care of things? Just get into the Tuxedo road and----”
“Would you let me have money enough to get home?” Somers asked.
“Not one blooming cent,” said Tom.
“Millions for defense but not one cent for travelling expenses,” said
Brent. “Why, a slick article like you ought to be able to jip a ride on
some freight.”
“All right,” said Tom disgustedly, “there’s no use standing here
talking; come ahead, Brent. So long, Somers; you’re the meanest
proposition I ever met in my life.”
They went off leaving Somers standing stock-still where they had talked.
He did not move till they were too far and too much engrossed with talk
to notice him. Probably he had that odd feeling that the least move
would make him the more shameful by making him the more conspicuous.
So he did not emphasize his presence by departing until there was no one
to see him go. Where he went they never knew, but he was never heard of
in his native home again. He certainly was a discredit to a very noble
profession. Whatever his difficulties were, they must have been grave
and pressing to prompt him to use the information given him by an unwary
patient as a desperate means of saving himself from jail. I have often
wondered, as Brent did, whether he really ever was in the conservation
service.
“He would have made a good real estate salesman,” Brent said. And
unquestionably he had one quality useful in that calling.