MR. BASCOMB HEARS BAD NEWS
When Evarts used the word "people" he employed it only in a general sense.
He had seen no one but Tom Reade, but Tom was the one person in the world
whom the ex-foreman wanted most to 'see' at a disadvantage.
"Now, I have you!" Evarts croaked hoarsely, rushing in, flourishing his
weapon, then letting the muzzle drop to the position of aim.
Dick Prescott, unseen, stirred almost under the fellow's feet.
Flop! Bump! Caught by the legs, by that famous football player, Dick
Prescott, Evarts simply had to go down on his back.
In the same instant Reade leaped, then bent over the prostrate foe.
Evarts was too much dazed to resist much. Tom snatched the revolver out
of his hand.
Sambo, beholding this much, came to a dismayed stop for an instant.
"Dick, it's your trade to know how to handle this tool better than I can,"
Tom cried, passing the captured revolver to Prescott, who swiftly received
it as he rose. "I'm afraid," continued the young engineer, "that it's
going to be necessary to kill the negro."
"Wow! Woof!" uttered Sambo Ebony. It didn't take that villain an instant
to decide on flight. Bending low, the black man ran off with frantic
speed.
Dick took a step forward---only one, for Evarts furiously gripped at one
of the young army officer's ankles, bringing him down to his knees.
"Hang you, you hound!" ground out Tom, in a rage, as he threw himself
athwart of the ex-foreman. Within the next thirty seconds Evarts received
a swift, fearful pummeling.
"Let up, Mr. Reade! Let up!" cried the wretch. "I'll behave myself."
"I'll wager you will," retorted the young engineer grimly, as he gripped
Evarts by the coat collar and drew him to his feet.
Dick was up and had run ahead some distance. But the time that had been
gained for the black man had proved sufficient. Sambo, was now out of
sight, nor did he send back any sound to guide his pursuers.
"It may have to be a long hunt for the negro," remarked Tom Reade when
Lieutenant Dick stepped back to state the case. "Stand by me and shoot
this fellow down in his tracks if he tries to get away."
"Why, what are you going to do to me?" quaked the ex-foreman.
"It's back to jail for yours," Tom informed him crisply.
"Then the laugh will be on you," jeered Evarts. "I'm out on bail---all in
regular form."
"You're not on bail on the latest charge against you---attempted murderous
assault," Reade rejoined. "Nor will any court allow you out on bail again
when Mr. Prescott and I testify to hearing you tell the negro that you
were going to jump your bail."
"Humph! That was all a joke," blustered Evarts.
"All right," nodded Tom. "Explain the joke to the judge, if you can find
a judge who's a good and willing listener. What you'll find, at this time,
is that a hundred thousand dollars' worth of bail won't get you out of
jail. Start along with you," Tom wound up, shaking Evarts by the arm that
he gripped. "If this sneak tries to get away, Dick, bring him down with a
bullet."
"I'm ready enough to do it," Prescott agreed.
A sudden great change came over the ex-foreman. At first he threatened.
Then he begged to be turned loose, promising nothing but the best behavior
in the future.
"Stop all your nonsense," ordered Reade finally. "There's only one proper
place on earth for you, Evarts, and that's behind the bars. Now, move
right along, or I'll give you a worse walloping every time you stop or
argue."
Finding that nothing would avail with these determined captors the
ex-foreman relapsed into sulks. However, he kept walking straight ahead,
obeying every order addressed to him.
Tom stopped briefly at the cottage. Mr. Prenter was not there, and
Harry Hazelton had turned in. Nicolas was lying on a blanket on the
porch.
"You'll have to keep awake until I get back, anyway, Nicolas, and keep
your eyes open," Tom informed the Mexican. "Sambo is at large again, and
I'm afraid he may turn up here."
"I shall know how to take care of him, Senor," grinned the Mexican holding
up his right forefinger.
"That wouldn't help you, this time," Tom retorted dryly. "Mr. Sambo Ebony
has a revolver with him. Don't let him get a shot at you; he'd be only
too glad to even the score. Now, Dick, I guess we'd better get Evarts over
to the jail."
Away started the chums and their prisoner while Nicolas went inside to
warn Harry.
Not so very much later Tom and Dick turned Evarts over to the police in
Blixton. Evarts was locked up on the new charge. The revolver taken from
him was turned over to the police as evidence. The chums also gave their
information that they had overheard the ex-foreman tell the negro that he
intended to jump bail. But the greatest of all was the news of the plot to
rescue the gambler prisoners now in jail.
Then the chums started back to camp.
"I noticed," said Lieutenant Prescott, in a low tone, "that you didn't
mention the conversation between Bascomb and Evarts."
"I hadn't any right to," Tom said simply. "If Mr. Bascomb once had trouble
in his life, but is living honestly now, it would be criminal of me to
expose such a secret that he wouldn't want known. Mr. Bascomb's past is
none of my business."
"I'm mighty glad to hear you talk that way about it," said Prescott,
resting a hand on Reade's shoulder.
"Why?" demanded Tom rather bluntly. "Did you think that I could feel any
other way about it?"
"But Evarts is pretty sure to talk a lot about Bascomb, now," hinted the
young army officer.
"If he does," sighed Tom, "I don't know that I can think of any way to
stop the fellow."
"Then you don't believe that Mr. Bascomb's evil record of past years
affects his honesty now?" Dick went on after a long pause.
"I don't believe it," Tom answered with unusual emphasis. "If I did it
would be as much as if I said that a fellow who once makes a wrong step
must never hope to get back into the right path again. Mr. Prenter, I am
certain, is an honest man and an unusually keen one. He is satisfied to
trust Mr. Bascomb as president of the company. But, if Evarts is some
sort of family connection of Bascomb's, and if he has often threatened to
tell all about Mr. Bascomb's past history, you can imagine the terror that
poor Mr. Bascomb has lived in for years."
"If I were in Bascomb's place," Dick declared positively, "I would go
before the board of directors and tell them the whole story. Then no one
else could ever hold any power over me."
"I guess that's the way all of us think we would act if we'd meet a
blackmailer," nodded Reade. "Yet I guess most of the victims, when there's
a sad, true story that could be told about them, pay the blackmailer and
so secure silence."
"Which may be another way," mused the young army officer, "of saying that
most men are cowards. Or, maybe, it's another way, after all, of saying
that the man who does anything very wrong or crooked is generally such a
coward at heart that he'll spend his savings in keeping his secret from the
world."
"Yet Bascomb must have shown considerable bravery in meeting Evarts's
demands," suddenly suggested Reade. "Otherwise, Mr. Bascomb would now be
a poor man and Evarts would have spent all of Bascomb's money. Heretofore,
I imagine, Evarts hasn't been able to blackmail his relative for anything
much more substantial than a good job. I hear that Evarts has been drawing
good pay from the Melliston Company for something more than four
years---and Evarts isn't a very useful man, at that."
"Then, after four years of easy berths, no wonder Evarts hates you, Tom,
for having bounced him out," smiled Dick Prescott.
"I'm afraid I'm going to do worse than bounce the fellow out of a job,"
sighed Reade. "I'm afraid I've helped head him for prison for a term of
a good many long years."
"Evarts did that much for himself," Prescott argued. "I wouldn't waste
much worry over the fellow."
"I suppose it's my way to worry over a dog with a sore paw," answered Reade
thoughtfully, "Certainly Evarts has done some mean things against me, and
without any just cause; but I don't like the thought of his having to be
locked up, away from sunlight, joy and life, for so many years as I'm
afraid are coming to him."
Arrived at camp, Tom found Mr. Bascomb walking back and forth on the porch
of the engineers' house.
"You're up late, sir," was Tom's friendly greeting to the president.
"Yes, Reade; I can't sleep to-night," said Mr. Bascomb wearily. "I came
over here to talk with Prenter. Where is he?"
"Asleep, I imagine, sir," Tom answered.
"Wrong," replied President Bascomb. "I've already been inside, but
Prenter isn't in the house."
"Then perhaps he thought it too lively around here," laughed Reade, "and
went over to Blixton to sleep at the hotel."
Mr. Bascomb didn't reply to this, but puffed hard at the black cigar he
was smoking and sending up clouds of smoke.
But the president of the Melliston Company became instantly more distracted
when Tom Reade began an account of the capture of Evarts, and his jailing,
and the escape of Mr. Sambo Ebony.
Presently Bascomb began to puff harder than ever at his cigar.
"Reade," he finally blurted out, "how long were you hiding there before
Evarts found you there?"
"Some little time," Tom admitted vaguely.
More clouds of cigar smoke ascended; then, shaking, and his face a sickly
white and green, the president inquired:
"Reade, were you there---you and Mr. Prescott---at the time when I talked
with Evarts on that very spot to-night?"
There was no use in evading the question, so engineer Reade answered in a
straightforward manner:
"Yes, sir. Mr. Prescott and I were there."
"Then---then---y-y-you heard all of my talk with Evarts?"
"Yes, sir."
Bascomb's teeth began to chatter so that he was forced to steady his jaws.
Tom and Dick looked aside, pitying the man for his evident anguish of mind.
At last the president steadied himself enough to speak.
"Reade, I know I haven't been a very good friend of yours, and I even
tried to work you out of this contract altogether. Now, you know my
secret, and I'm in your power!"