CHAPTER XX
A SECRET IN SIGHT
"Mr. Prenter," asked Tom suddenly, "is there anything about which you wish to see me just now?"
"Not particularly," replied the treasurer. "Only, in view of late developments I'm going to remain about for the next few days, unless you order me out of the house. I want to be close to the trouble."
"Then, if I'm not needed," gaped Reade, "I'm going to turn in and steal a little sleep. I need rest."
"As I'm going to stay up to-night, Tom, and keep you company through the dark hours, I'm for the bale of lint, too," announced Lieutenant Prescott.
"At what hour shall I call you?" asked Harry.
"At eight o'clock to-night," answered Tom.
Refreshed by a few hours' sleep Tom and Dick were called, to find their supper ready. Nicolas stood behind their chairs, attentive to their needs.
Mr. Prenter remained out on the porch, but Harry sat at table with his friends.
"Has Mr. Bascomb put in an appearance here?" Tom inquired.
"No," said Hazelton briefly.
"He certainly has wound up my curiosity," murmured Tom. "Why on earth should he bail out Evarts?"
"Probably because Evarts asked him to," suggested Dick.
"But why should he want to please Evarts in such a matter?"
"Well, you know," hinted Harry, "we've heard that Evarts is some sort of relative to Mr. Bascomb."
"But the rascal has been working to ruin this company," Tom protested, "and Mr. Bascomb is the trusted president of the company."
"Yet is Mr. Bascomb really fit to be trusted?" Prescott propounded.
"Mr. Prenter seems to think so, and he is a capable judge of men," Tom rejoined. "It is the combination of all these circumstances taken together that makes me so curious over Mr. Bascomb's being willing to bail the fellow."
"Oh, well, it's too much of a puzzle for us," said Harry, shrugging his shoulders. "All we've got to do is to keep our eyes open and faithfully guard the property that is entrusted to our care. However, I'm growing sour and sore. Here I've got to go to bed presently, and you and Dick are going to be prowling about all night. You'll have all the excitement, while I'll be in bed."
"You seem to forget," Tom reminded him, "that the last big excitement took place in the daytime, during your shift. Dick and I may have a lazy night, and you may have the air full of wreckage to-morrow in broad daylight."
They chatted a little while with Mr. Prenter, outside, and then Dick rose at Tom's signal.
"We must be starting," said Reade. "I don't know just what we're going to do to-night, but we have miles to cover I'm afraid."
"Being an army officer, Dick, you've got a pistol, of course," suggested
Harry hopefully.
"I've a brace of them," nodded the army man.
"Good!" cheered Harry.
"But both of them, unloaded at that, are in my trunks at Mobile," laughed Dick, whereat Tom chuckled. Harry Hazelton was much inclined to want to carry a pistol in times of danger, but Tom didn't believe in any such habit.
"I thought soldiers went armed," muttered Hazelton ruefully.
"Only when on duty," Dick informed him.
Nicolas wistfully watched Reade out of sight. The Mexican had been ordered to remain at home to-night, and on no account to think of following his employer. That didn't at all agree with the faithful fellow's wishes.
"They'll be sure to get into some trouble, Senor Hazelton," Nicolas said mournfully. "I should be on their flank, watching over them."
"You don't know Gridley boys," laughed Harry, "if you don't understand that Dick Prescott and Tom Reade, together, are a hard team to beat."
In the meantime Tom led the way down to the camp of workmen. Reade stopped to speak with one of his reliable negroes, whom he found softly strumming a banjo under a tree.
"Are there any visitors in camp to-night who shouldn't be here?" asked Tom.
"I doan' beliebe so, boss," replied the colored man. "Dem gamblers an' bootleggers ain' done got bail yet, has they, sah?"
"I don't believe they have," replied Tom. "There are no others of their kind here, then?"
"I doan' beliebe so, sah."
Tom and Dick strolled through the camp, but all was quiet there. Many of the men were outside their shacks or tents, smoking and waiting for turning-in time to come.
"Looks as orderly as a camp-meeting," declared Lieutenant Prescott. "I'm glad to see, Tom, that you're for the decent camp every time."
"The decent camp is the only kind that contains efficient workmen for engineering jobs," Reade answered dryly.
Presently they strolled out of camp, on the farther side. This was what the young engineer really wanted to do—-to vanish suddenly, in a fashion that would not be likely to be noted by hostile eyes. Now Reade and his army chum proceeded softly, and without words. Through the deep woods Tom was heading for the spot where he had found the magneto.
Sambo Ebony was at large, and Tom believed that other things than the magneto had been concealed at this spot. If Sambo intended any further assaults on the retaining wall he would be quite likely to come this way. So here Tom Reade was resolved to remain and watch, even if he had to put in most of the night there.
Behind some bushes he and Dick found a hiding place looking out upon the scene of the late conflict with "Mr. Ebony."
Without even whispered conversation time dragged slowly. More than an hour dragged by, and both watchers were beginning to feel decidedly bored.
At last, however, footsteps came that way. Both watchers crouched lower and waited.
The new-comer approached the place rather uncertainly. At last, however, he stood revealed. Tom Reade felt like yelling in his utter astonishment.
For President Bascomb, of the Melliston Company, now stood before them. After a glance about Mr. Bascomb walked slowly up and down, as though he were waiting for some one.
Dick, of course, did not know Mr. Bascomb. However, as Tom kept silent the young soldier did the same.
"What on earth can Bascomb be doing here?" Tom wondered. "Is he, too, one of the conspirators? It is unbelievable! Yet with what speed he obeyed Evarts's summons to come and bail him out! It makes me feel like a sneak to be here spying on the president of the company that employs me—-and yet there's something here that certainly must be looked into!"
Fifteen minutes more dragged by, with Mr. Bascomb walking impatiently back and forth, occasionally heaving a deep sigh or catching at his breath.
"Our worthy president is much excited, at any rate," Reade said to himself.
Finally steps were heard, both by Bascomb and by the pair who watched him.
Then another man came upon the scene.
"Evarts, why on earth did you send for me?" demanded Mr. Bascomb, as the discharged foreman came up.
"Because I knew you'd be here—-you don't dare do otherwise," was the sneering reply.
"Try not to be impudent about it," advised Mr. Bascomb mildly. "As you may remember, I've had to stand a lot from you."
"And not as much as you might have to stand, either, if I took it into my head to make matters lively for you," jeered Evarts harshly. "Remember, man, you'll do as I want you to do."
"I'm willing to do what I can for you," replied the president. "But—-"
"Now, don't throw any of your 'buts' at me," broke in the discharged foreman, roughly. "You failed me in one thing—-you didn't make Reade take me back on the job, as I told you to do."
"I couldn't," pleaded Mr. Bascomb. "Prenter stood with Reade and was against me."
"You're the president of the company, aren't you?" Evarts demanded sullenly.
"Yes; but Prenter is a bigger man in the company, and he has more influence with the board of directors. If Prenter came out against me, and persuaded the other directors that I was a bad asset for the company, they'd act on Prenter's suggestion and remove me from the presidency."
"Humph!" jeered Evarts. "Then what would your directors do if they knew that—-."
"Stop!" begged Mr. Bascomb hoarsely, "Don't say a word further, man! Sometimes even the leaves on the trees have ears. Don't breathe a word of what you were going to say just now."
Even in the dark the two concealed watchers could see that Bascomb was glancing about him nervously.
"Now, what is up?" gasped Tom inwardly. "What part has Mr. Bascomb been playing in this mystery that he's so afraid of having become public?"
CHAPTER XXI
EVARTS HEARS A NOISE
"I won't shut up," proclaimed Evarts.
"I don't care who hears me."
"But I care," protested the president, in a trembling voice.
"Then you'll have to reward me for whatever silence you want," snarled the wretch.
"Is this blackmail never to cease?" groaned Mr. Bascomb.
"Yes, when you've used me right," declared Evarts harshly.
"Didn't I come forward promptly on your bail?" demanded Mr. Bascomb.
"Sure, for you didn't dare do otherwise. But that only gave me liberty.
It didn't put any money in my pocket."
"Are you going to jump your bail, and leave me to pay the bond?" asked
Bascomb.
"Perhaps," said Evarts lightly. "You can stand losing the money."
"I suppose so."
"But when I jump," continued Evarts, "I'll have to stay out of the country after that. It'll take money—-and you'll have to furnish me with it."
"How much?"
"Well," continued the foreman, craftily, "I wouldn't leave the country with less than enough to set me up elsewhere. I'd need—-well, let me see. I couldn't start in a new country on less than ten thousand dollars."
"That would make fifteen thousand dollars, in all." Mr. Bascomb finished his remark with a groan.
"Well, what are you howling about?" demanded Evarts unfeelingly. "You've got the money."
"It will lower my holdings in the Melliston Company," complained Mr. Bascomb bitterly "I'm not a rich man, and I haven't any too much stock in the company at the present moment."
"You'd have to sell it all out, if I gave the directors a chance to find out that you're a jailbird—-that you did time as a younger man," sneered Evarts.
"For goodness' sake hold your tongue, man!" gasped Mr. Bascomb in accents of terror.
"Just think," grinned Evarts heartlessly, "how delighted your directors would be to know that you had done time in prison."
"Silence, man!" implored Bascomb. "It wasn't altogether my fault, as you know. And the governor of the state discovered that I wasn't as bad as the jury thought me. It all came through trying to help a worthless friend. Why, man, the governor pardoned me, when I had yet two years to serve and restored me to liberty."
"But you're a jailbird, just the same," jeered the discharged foreman. "Let the directors find that out, and how quickly they'd drop you from your office!"
Mr. Bascomb buried his face in his hands and sobbed aloud.
"So," continued Evarts, "I'll give you forty-eight hours to raise the ten thousand dollars—-in good cash, mind you—-no checks! Then I'll call on you to hand the money over to me. If you don't, I'll write a note to the directors, telling them to look up your name in the court records at Logville, Minnesota. Now, do you understand?"
"Yes," nodded Mr. Bascomb brokenly.
"And you'll have the money?"
"I—-I'll try."
"You'll have the money—-by day after tomorrow!"
"Yes."
"Now clear out—-fast!"
"Eh?" inquired Mr. Bascomb, looking wildly at the wretch.
"Get out! Go back to the hotel in Blixton, and don't try to slip away from me at any point in the game. Start—-now!"
"Good night!" said President Bascomb in a choking voice.
"Oh, cut out the civilities!" grunted Evarts turning on his heel.
Mr. Bascomb then silently left the spot. His footfalls made so little noise that their sound was soon lost to Dick and Tom.
Evarts appeared in no hurry to leave. On the contrary he drew out a pipe, filled it and lighted it. Then he threw himself down on the ground, puffing slowly.
"From the fact that he sent Mr. Bascomb away, and is himself remaining," thought Tom Reade, "it is rather plain that this scoundrel, Evarts, is awaiting some one else."
The same thought had occurred to Dick Prescott, though, as they lay within thirty feet of where Evarts reclined on the ground, the chums did not deem it wise to exchange even whispers.
After another half-hour Dick pressed Tom's arm. Other footsteps were now near. Then Mr. Sambo Ebony slouched on to the scene.
"Hullo, Tar!" was the ex-foreman's careless greeting.
"Now, doan' get too prescrumptious wid me," warned the black man, with an evil grin that displayed his big, white teeth. "Yo' an' me hab done been good frien's, an' pulled togedder. But Ah want yo' to undahstan', Mr. White Man, dat I doan' allow yo' to call me Tar Baby."
"Oh, come, now, don't get huffy," yawned Evarts, who had not taken the trouble to rise. "I'm not afraid of you, Tar."
"Stop dat!" cried the black angrily. "Yo's takin' big chances, yo' is."
"You're big and powerful, I know that," grinned Evarts. "But I have something with me that makes me just the same size as you are, or perhaps a little bigger. See this!"
The ex-foreman drew from one of his pockets a formidable-looking automatic revolver.
"Huh!" grunted the negro, producing a similar pistol, "yo' ain' no bettah fixed dan Ah be."
"We're quits," laughed Evarts easily, returning his weapon to his pocket.
"Put up your rain-maker."
"Den yo' won't call me Tar Baby no mo?"
"No more."
"All right, den." Ebony put up his weapon.
"Now, what's the programme?" asked Evarts. "You've seen the leader?"
"Yah. Ah's done see de right man. De orders am simple."
"What are they?"
"Misto Reade am to be killed de fust time he show himself," declared Sambo Ebony. "He to be shot down ez soon ez Ah can lay eyes on him. Maybe Ah have to shoot from ambush, but in any case he must be daid befo' de sun go down to-morrow. Our big men am tired to def dat Massa Reade stop do men from havin' a little liquor and playin' cairds evenin's."
"Fine!" thought Tom, with a start. "If Sambo knew how close I am he'd carry out his orders right now! He has his pistol with him."
"An' den, if dey's any fuss made," the black went on, "Misto Hazelton, he done gottah go nex'. Maybe Ah get cotch' w'en I do fo' Misto Reade. Ef dat happen, den dere's anodder man ready to do fo' Misto Hazelton."
"And maybe the second man will get caught, too," suggested Evarts. "Then there'll be two of you with nooses around your necks."
"We maybe get cotch', an' put in de jail," smirked Sambo Ebony, "but doan' yo' beliebe nothin' worse happen. Dere ain' many guards at de jail, an' do gang is on de way. De jail guards done be shot up, an' ouah folks turn' loose. Den we all strike out fo' new place, an' begin all ober again. Den a new gang come in heah and operate to get de money away from de breakwatah gangs. Dere's so much money in dat camp yondah dat ouah folks done gottah hab it ef a dozen men has to be kill'."
"For cold-blooded, systematic villainy I believe I am listening to the limit!" quivered Lieutenant Dick Prescott under his breath.
"They're insane, these people," was Tom's inward comment. "Let this crowd of scoundrels shoot up the jail guards, and do they think the citizens would ever allow the gang to operate in camp? There'd be more likelihood of the known members of the gang being lynched!"
"I won't go back to jail if I can help it," laughed Evarts, speaking to the negro. "As soon as I even up one or two grudges I'm going to slip away."
"Break yo' bail?" asked the negro, showing his teeth.
"That's about the size of it," nodded Evarts.
"Den de w'ite gemman who done fu'nish yo' bond will be feelin' bad, won't he?"
"Let him—-he's no friend of mine," grunted the discharged foreman.
"Maybe yo'd like de job ob tendin' to Boss Reade yo'so'f?" hinted Sambo darkly.
"Oh, I'm going to settle with Reade in some fashion," boasted Evarts with a leer. "I don't know that I want to kill him. I'd rather cripple him and let him live a life of misery."
"Thank you!" thought Tom from his hiding place.
"There's another chap we'll have to deal with, too, I'm thinking," Evarts went on. "Reade and Hazelton have a friend of theirs here, and he's likely to make some trouble for us. He's an army officer."
"I done heah'd ob him," nodded Sambo. "We can settle wid him, too."
"We ought to, for he helped arrest me, and he's to be a witness on the torpedo matter."
"W'ate's his name—-de ahmy man's?" inquired Sambo.
"Prescott. He's—-"
The speaker stopped suddenly, looking about him.
"What was that, Tar?" Evarts demanded.
"W'at yo' talkin' 'bout?"
"I heard a noise, and it was right over there," replied Evarts, pointing to where Tom and Dick lay hidden.
"I didn't heah nuffin'."
"I did, I tell you, and it will have to be looked into," insisted the ex-foreman, drawing his automatic revolver.
"Go ahaid, den," encouraged Sambo, also drawing his weapon. "Ef anybody been a-lis'enin', den shoot him full ob holes!"
Evarts darted at the bushes ahead of his companion. Then an exultant yell came from him.
"Hustle, Tar—-and shoot straight! Here are the very people we want—-I caught sight of them!"
"Den watch me!" chuckled Sambo Ebony, flourishing his weapon and dashing forward in the tracks of Evarts.
There was no time for the chums to rise and dart away.
CHAPTER XXII
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!"
CHAPTER XXIII
EBONY SAYS "THUMBS UP"
Tom Reade stared in frank amazement at the trembling man.
"Do you mean to insult me, Mr. Bascomb?" demanded the young engineer bluntly.
"Insult you? The fates forbid," replied Bascomb with a sickly grin.
"Reade, I don't dare offend you in any way."
"But you do insult me, sir, in believing that it would be possible for me to make any hostile use of whatever unpleasant knowledge I may possess against you."
"Do you mean to say that you wouldn't use the knowledge?" demanded the president of the Melliston Company.
"You're insulting me again, sir. Perhaps you are to be pardoned, Mr. Bascomb. You have been so long dancing to the fiddling of an Evarts that you don't realize how impossible it is for a gentleman to do a dishonorable thing."
"Then—-then I—-I can rely upon your silence?" demanded Mr. Bascomb, eagerly.
"I am sorry, sir, to think that you even think it necessary to ask me such a question," rejoined Reade gravely.
"Reade! Reade! You can't imagine how grateful you'll find me if I really can rely upon you to forget what you overheard to-night!" cried the humiliated man. "And you, Mr. Prescott—-may I depend upon you, also, to preserve silence?"
"I'm afraid, sir, you're putting me in Reade's class as an insulted man," Dick smiled grimly. "My friend, the people of this country, in the person of their President, have issued to me a commission certifying that I am worthy to wear the shoulder-straps of an army officer. The shoulder-straps stand for the strictest sense of honor in all things. If I depart, ever so little, from the laws of honor, I prove my unfitness to wear shoulder-straps. Have I answered you."
There was silence for a few moments. Then, Mr. Bascomb, having smoked his cigar out, tossed the butt away.
"I'd like to offer you a little advice, Mr. Bascomb, if you won't think
I'm too forward."
"What is it?" asked the president, turning briskly upon the young chief engineer.
"Just as long as you both live, Mr. Bascomb, Evarts is likely to bother you, in one way or another. Even if he goes to prison himself he'll find a way to bother you from the other side of the grated door. Mr. Bascomb, why don't you yourself disclose this little affair in your past history to the board of directors? Then it would be past any blackmailer's power to harm you."
"I could tell the directors in only one way," Mr. Bascomb answered, his face growing sallow. "That would be to tell my story and hand in my resignation in the same breath. Reade, you don't realize how much the presidency of the Melliston Company means to me! To resign, or to be kicked out, would end my career in the business world."
In the near darkness a step sounded on the gravel. Then Mr. Prenter came briskly forward.
"Bascomb," said the treasurer of the company, "Reade's advice was good, though wholly unnecessary. There is no need to tell the directors the story of your past misfortune. Most of them know it already."
The president's face grew grayish as he listened in torment.
"Moreover," Mr. Prenter continued, "most of us have known all about the matter since just before you were elected president."
"And yet you allowed me to be elected!" cried Mr. Bascomb hoarsely.
"Yes; because we looked up your life and your conduct since—-well, ever since you left the past behind and came out into business life again. Our investigation showed that you had been living for years as an honest man. The rest of us on the board are men—-or think we are—-and we voted, informally, not to allow one misstep of yours to outweigh years of the most upright living since."
"Knowing it all, you elected me to be president of the company!" gasped
Mr. Bascomb, as though he could not believe his ears or his senses.
"Now, let us hear no more about it," urged Mr. Prenter, cordially. "If I listened just now—-if I played the part of the eavesdropper, allow me to explain my conduct by saying that I, too, was present to-night when you talked with Evarts. I heard, and I knew that Reade and his friend heard. I listened, just now, in order that I might make sure that Thomas Reade, engineer, is a man of honor at all times. And now, let no one say a word more."
Some one else was coming. All on the porch turned and waited to see who it was. Out of the shadows came a hang-dog looking sort of fellow.
"Is Mr. Bascomb here?" asked the newcomer.
"I am Mr. Bascomb," spoke the president.
"Here's a note for you," said the man, handing over an envelope.
Tom stepped inside, got a lantern and lighted it, placing it upon the porch table. With the aid of this illumination Mr. Bascomb read the brief note directed to him.
"It's from Evarts," said the president, looking up with a quiet laugh. "He commands me to come to him at once, in his cell, and to arrange some way of getting out. My man," turning to the messenger, "are you going back to Evarts?"
"Yes," nodded the messenger, shifting his weight from one foot to another.
"Go back to Evarts, then, and tell him that he'll have to threaten some one else this time. Tell him that I am through with him."
"Huh!" growled the hang-dog messenger. "I believe Evarts said that, if old
Bascomb wasn't quick, he'd make trouble for some one."
"Tell Evarts," said Mr. Prenter, "that he can't make trouble for any one but himself, and that he had better save his breath for the next time he needs it."
"Evarts will be awful mad, if I go back to him with any talk like that," insinuated the messenger meaningly.
"See here, fellow," interjected. Tom Reade, stepping forward quickly, "I'm rather tired and out of condition to-night, but if you don't leave here as fast as you can go, I'll kick you every step of the way for the first half-mile back to Blixton! Do you think you understand me?"
"I—-I reckon I do," admitted the fellow.
"Then start before you tempt my right foot! I'll give you five seconds to get off."
There could be no mistaking that order. The messenger started off, nor did he glance backward as long as he was in sight.
"You see how easily a chap like Evarts can be disposed of," smiled Mr.
Prenter.
"He'll send back again for another try, within an hour," prophesied Mr.
Bascomb, wearily.
"If he does," laughed Dick Prescott, shortly, "his second appeal won't come by the same messenger."
"Then you were near us, Mr. Prenter, when Evarts and the negro charged us?"
Tom inquired.
"I was," smiled the treasurer. "That convicts me of cowardice, doesn't it, in not having come to your aid at the moment of attack? I wasn't quite as big a coward as I would seem, though. The truth is, I was behind you. Had I jumped in in that exciting moment, you would have thought other enemies were attacking from behind. You would have been confused and would have lost the fight."
"By Jove, sir, but that was quick thinking and shrewdness on your part!" ejaculated Dick Prescott.
"Then you acquit me of cowardice?"
"No," smiled the young army officer, "for I hadn't thought of accusing you of lack of courage."
"I am glad you didn't," sighed the treasurer. "I would rather be suspected of almost anything than of lacking manly courage. Afterwards I didn't make my presence known to you, for, at that time, I didn't want you to know that I had overheard a certain conversation."
"My cowardice has made a dreadful mess of things in a lot of ways, hasn't it?" demanded Mr. Bascomb bitterly.
"That's all past now, so it doesn't matter," spoke up Tom Reade. "We have just one move more to make in this baffling game, and then I fancy we shall have won. When Mr. Sambo Ebony, as I have nicknamed him, is safely jailed I think we shall find ourselves undisturbed in the future. We shall then be permitted to go ahead and finish the million-dollar breakwater as a work and a triumph of peace."
"Every time that one of us opens his mouth," laughed Mr. Prenter, "I am expecting to hear a big bang down by the breakwater to punctuate the speaker's sentence. I wonder whether the scoundrels back of Sambo have any more novel ways for setting off their big firecrackers around our wall?"
"It might not be a bad idea for me to get out on the watch again," Tom suggested, rising. "If I get in more trouble than I can handle I'll just yell 'Mr. Prenter,' for I shall know that he'll be within easy hearing distance."
The treasurer laughed, as he, too, rose.
"My being so near you before, Reade, was just accident. I was prowling about on my own account, when you and your army friend passed me in the deep woods. I had an idea that you were out for some definite purpose, and so I just trailed along at your rear in order to be near any excitement that you might turn up."
"And I suppose you're going to follow us this time, too," smiled Tom Reade.
"Prenter," suggested the president of the company, "what do you say if you and I prowl in some other direction? I've been such a miserable coward all through this affair that now I'd like to go with you. If we run into any trouble I'll try to show you that I'm not all coward."
"Come along, Bascomb," agreed the treasurer cordially. "Reade, I give you my word that we won't intentionally follow on your trail."
At a nod from Tom, Dick was at his side. The two high school chums started off with brisk steps.
"Which way are you going?" whispered Dick.
"Let's go down to the breakwater," suggested Tom. "I really ought to visit it once in the night, despite the fact that Corbett is a wholly reliable foreman, and that he has his own pick of workmen on patrol duty there."
As the chums stepped out from under the trees in full view of the breakwater site they beheld the lanterns of the patrol, like so many fireflies, twinkling and bobbing here and there along the narrow-topped retaining wall.
Tom and Dick went out on the wall until they encountered the first workman on patrol. Tom took this man's lantern and signaled the motor boat as it stood in shore.
"All going right, Corbett?" the young engineer hailed, as soon as the
"Morton" had come up alongside.
"As far as I can see, Mr. Reade, there's not a sign of the enemy to-night. But of course you know, sir, that we've been just as sure on other nights, only to have a large part of the wall blown clean out of the water."
"All I can say," Tom nodded, "is to go on keeping your eyes and ears open."
"Yes, sir; you may be sure I'll do that," nodded the foreman.
Then Reade and his army chum returned to the shore.
"I guess it will be a wholly blind hunt," Tom laughed, "but I've a notion for returning to the spot where we encountered Sambo Ebony before this night."
After they had left the beach well behind, the chums strolled in under the trees of a rather sparse grove.
Well in toward the center of the grove stood one tree larger than the rest.
From behind this Sambo Ebony swiftly appeared, just at the right instant for surprise. In each hand the negro held a huge automatic revolver.
"Gemmen," chuckled the negro coolly, "Ah jess be nacherally obliged to yo' both if yo'll stick yo' hands ez high up in de air ez yo' can h'ist 'em. It am a long worm dat nebber turns, an' Ah'se done reckon dat Ah'se de tu'ning worm to-night! Thumbs up, gemmen!"
Despite Sambo's bantering tone there could be no doubt that to fail to obey him would be to invite a swift fusillade.
Reluctantly Tom Reade thrust his hands up skyward. Nor did Dick Prescott hesitate to follow so prompt an example.
CHAPTER XXIV
CONCLUSION
"Now Ah reckon Ah'se done got yo'," laughed the big negro, insolently. "It am a question ob w'ich one Ah wantah pick off fust!"
In his wicked joy over having both the young engineer and the army officer wholly at his mercy Sambo, his mouth open and his massive teeth showing white in his grin, advanced nearer.
Yet he did not fail to keep each of his enemies covered. He was watching most alertly for any sign of rebellion on the part of his victims.
Nor was there any doubt in the mind of either young man that the black, after playing with them, meant to dispose of them as his possession of pistols indicated.
He would torment them first, then ruthlessly "shoot them up."
"How long are we to keep our hands up?" asked Tom banteringly.
It would be foolish to say that Reade was not afraid, but he was determined to keep Ebony from discovering the fact.
"Yo's to keep yo' hands up longer dan yo' can keep yo' moufs shut!" scowled the black man, his ugly streak showing once more.
"It makes me think of the way we used to play football," laughed Reade, though there was not much mirth in his chuckle.
"Shut yo' mouf, or Ah done gib yo' plenty to think erbout!" ordered Sambo angrily.
That word "football" set Dick Prescott to tingling. He knew there was some hidden meaning in what Tom had said.
"Are you trying to signal us, Sambo?" queried the army officer.
That word "signal" was intended only for Tom's ear, for Lieutenant Prescott was beginning to guess at the truth.
"On the gridiron, on the gridiron!" hummed Tom, audibly, as he tried clumsily to fit the words to the refrain of a popular song.
Dick Prescott was "getting warm" on the scent of the hidden meaning.
"Shut yo' mouf!" gruffly commanded the lack. "Ah doan' wantah tell yo' dat again, neider."
"Right foot—-high foot!" chanted Tom.
Mentally Dick Prescott jumped as though he had been shot. "Right foot—-high foot" had been one of their old kicking signals on the Gridley High School eleven!
Lieutenant Dick Prescott fairly throbbed as he now understood the covered signal.
"Now!" left Reade's lips with explosive energy, though the word was low-spoken.
At "right foot—-high foot" and "now" each youth suddenly shot his right foot up into the air.
Tom's landed against Sambo's right wrist, kicking the automatic revolver completely out of the negro's hands.
Dick's kick landed against the black man's left wrist. The pistol held in Sambo's left hand was discharged, though the muzzle had been driven up at such an angle that the bullet passed harmlessly over Prescott's head.
In a twinkling Ebony had been disarmed.
Darting low, Tom grappled with the negro's legs. Then Reade rose swiftly, toppling Sambo over backward.
Dick Prescott bounded upon the prostrate foe, beating him with both fists.
Tom also threw himself into the melee.
While the black might have thrashed either youth alone he was not equal to handling both at the same time.
"I've got him, now, and he'll behave, I guess," panted Tom Reade, at last.
"Slip off, Dick, and gather in the pistols."
As Prescott did so Sambo made the last few efforts of which he was capable. He had been hammered so hard, however, that Tom did not have extreme difficulty in holding him down.
"Now, lie still and take orders," warned Dick, pressing one of the pistols against the black man's temple, "or I'll get excited and send you out of this world for keeps!"
Sambo Ebony thereupon dropped into sullen muttering, but did not offer to resist. Prescott, as a soldier, had a businesslike way of handling weapons that cowed the black man.
Tom got up leisurely from the prostrate foe.
"Now, you can stand a little farther off, Dick," he suggested, "and then the fellow won't get a chance to tip you over with any trick. If he tries to get up before he's told you can easily bring him to earth again, for you've been taught the exact use of firearms."
"Good idea," nodded Lieutenant Prescott, backing away a few feet. "Are you going to run for assistance now, Tom?"
"No," retorted Reade. "You're going to shoot for it."
"Eh?"
"Fire a shot into the air from each revolver. That, with the accidental discharge of a moment go, will show any listener that there's trouble going on over here. I miss my guess if the shots don't bring help very shortly."
Bang! Bang!
Nor was Reade's guess a wrong one. Not much time passed before steps were heard hurrying in their direction.
"Here! This way!" summoned Tom.
"Are you hurt?" sounded Mr. Prenter's voice.
"No; but we have Sambo Ebony here, and he's going to be hurt if he tries to stir."
President and treasurer of the Melliston Company raced to the spot. Barely sixty seconds afterward Foreman Corbett, with four negroes and one Italian laborer, also came up.
"Corbett, you have the handcuffs I gave you the other night, haven't you?"
Tom asked.
"Yes, sir. Here they are."
Tom took the steel bracelets, ordering Mr. Sambo Ebony to turn over and lie face downward, with his hands behind his back. Then the handcuffs were slipped over the black wrists.
"Now, Sambo," called Tom laughingly, "we'll set you on your feet and whistle the rogues' march for you all the way."
"Yah, yah, yah!" jeered one of the negroes who had come up with Foreman Corbett, as he gazed contemptuously up and down the bulky figure of Mr. Ebony. "Yo' done been tellin' us 'spectable cullud fo'ks dat de great way to injye life was to be tough an' smaht, lak yo'se'f. How ye' feel erbout it now? Doan' yo' wish yo' been mo' 'spectable yo'se'f? Doan' ye' done wish dat ye' had been to camp-meeting a few times in yo' life? Doan' yo' wish ye' been honest most er de time, an' been a hahd-wo'kin', pay-ye'-bills niggah lak some ob de rest oh us? Yo' fool lump er tar, yo' boun' ter go de way ob all de wicked—-down to ye' grave in misery an' sorrow. It's de way oh all ob yo' lazy, ugly, wuthless kind!"
"I've heard philosophers talk," laughed Dick, in an aside to Tom Reade, "but I can't say that I ever yet listened to a trained philosopher who had the truth of life down any more pat than the negro workman who just now gave his views."
"On all matters of good behavior wise men of all degrees hold about the same views," nodded Reade, "even though they may express their thoughts in differing grades of speech. This good negro knows just where the bad negro has failed in life."
Mr. Sambo Ebony was marched off to jail. Even up to the minute when he was sentenced to twenty years' imprisonment the big black stubbornly refused to give his real name. He was therefore taken away to prison under the name "Sambo Ebony."
Evarts got off with eight years and four months in prison. He is still serving that sentence.
Hawkins and his crew of gamblers and bootleggers were sentenced to two years apiece, as only misdemeanor charges could be preferred against them.
From the foregoing it will be inferred that the proposed jail delivery by other members of the gang from elsewhere did not come off according to plan. The truth was that the citizens of Blixton, when appealed to, organized a strong guard which was thrown around the jail. Doubtless the gang-members were warned in time, and so did not attempt to commit wholesale suicide by running against a citizens' posse.
Mr. Bascomb is still president of the Melliston Company, and he is holding up his head. No further fear of blackmailers oppresses him.
Dick Prescott was able to remain several days longer—-long enough, in fact, to see the more substantial structure of the million-dollar breakwater begin to go up just inside the completed retaining wall.
Then Lieutenant Dick was obliged to resume his journey on to Fort Clowdry, Colorado. What happened to Prescott, after joining the army as an officer, is told in "Uncle Sam's Boys on Field Duty," the second volume in the "Boys of the Army Series."
Though Harry Hazelton was disappointed in missing some of the excitement at Blixton, he had no occasion to complain in that respect when he and Tom entered upon the next great undertaking of the young engineer pair.
After the disappearance of the big black from the scene there was no further trouble at the breakwater.
Blixton is now an important though artificial harbor. With the completion of the breakwater, and the building of a lighthouse, the next work undertaken was the building of stone docks at which the steamships of the Melliston Line now dock.
The next adventures that befell Tom and Harry were destined to be the most wonderful and exciting of all. These adventures must be reserved for complete telling in the next volume in this series, which is published under the title, "The Young Engineers In The Lead; Or, The stroke That Made Them Masters of Their Field."
It is a story of almost incredible efforts, backed by strong ambition, of two American youths who had both the desire and the will to toil unceasingly and at last reach their goal.