mb 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 ta