antages 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