Tom Fairfield's Pluck and Luck Part 31

Thus musing, and half talking to himself, Tom staggered on through the rain and darkness. He had to be careful of his ankle, for he did not want to permanently injure himself, nor get so lame that he could not play in future football games.

"Let's see," said Tom, coming to a halt after an uphill struggle against the November gale. "The lane ought to be somewhere around here." It was so dark that he could scarcely see a few feet ahead of him, and a lantern would have been blown out in an instant. "I hope Appleby isn't prowling around," he went on. "It would look sort of awkward if he caught me. I wish Ray had named some other place. And yet, it was here I saw him the other time. Maybe it will be all right."

Tom went on a little farther, stepping into mud puddles, and slipping off uneven stones, sending twinges of pain through his sprained ankle.

"I guess I'm there now," he murmured as he felt a firm path under his feet. "Now to see if Ray is here."

Tom had advanced perhaps a hundred feet down the lane that led from the main road to the farm of Mr. Appleby when he came to an abrupt halt.

"Was that a whistle, or just the howling of the wind?" he asked himself, half aloud. He paused to listen.

"It was a whistle," he answered himself. "I'll reply."

He shrilled out a call through the storm and darkness, in reply to the few notes he had heard.

"Are you there?" demanded a voice.

"Yes. Is that you, Ray?" asked Tom.

"Ray? No! who are you?" came the query.

Tom felt his heart sink. Had he made a mistake? He did not know what to do.

Through the darkness a shape loomed up near him. He started back, and then came a dazzling flash of light. It shone in his face--one of those portable electric torches. By the reflected glare Tom saw that it was held and focused on him by a ragged man--by a man who seemed to be a tramp--a man with a broad, livid scar running from his eye down his cheek nearly to his mouth!

CHAPTER XXIII

THE PURSUIT

They stood staring at each other--Tom Fairfield and the ragged man, the latter holding the electric torch so that it was focused on our hero.

And yet this did not prevent some of the rays from glinting back and revealing himself. He seemed too surprised to make any move, and, as for Tom himself, he remained motionless, not knowing what to do. He had come out in the storm expecting to meet a certain person, and a totally different one had appeared, and yet one whom he much desired to meet.

"Well," finally growled the ragged man. "What is it, young feller?

Was you lookin' for me?"

"Not exactly," replied Tom with a half smile, "and yet I'm glad to see you."

"Oh, you are, eh? Well, I don't know as I can say the same. What do you want, anyhow?"

"A few words with you."

"And s'posin' I don't want any words with you?"

"I fancy it will be to your advantage to talk to me," said Tom coolly.

He was glad of a chance to stand still, for his ankle was paining him very much, and even though the rain was coming down in torrents, and it was cold and dreary, he did not mind, for he felt that at last he was at the end of the trail that meant the clearing of his name.

"Nice time for a talk," sneered the tramp. "If you have anything to say, out with it. I'm not going to stand here all night."

"I don't fancy the job myself," remarked Tom easily. "In the first place, you came here to meet the same person I did, I think."

"What makes you think so?" asked the tramp uneasily, and he lowered his light so that it no longer pointed in Tom's face.

"Well, I have reasons. a.s.suming that you did come here to meet a certain Ray Blake, what do you want of him?"

"I'm not going to tell you--how did you know I wanted to see Ray?"

stammered the ragged man, hastily correcting himself.

"He told me so," replied Tom frankly. "Now I want you to let him alone after this. You've done him harm enough, and you have done much to ruin his life. I want you to promise not to make any more attempts to force him to lead the kind of a life you're leading."

"S'posin' I won't?"

"Then I'll make you!"

"You'll make me? Come, that's pretty good! That's rich, that is! Ha!

You'll make me, young feller? Why it'll take more'n you to make me do what I don't want to do."

"I fancy not," said Tom easily, and with a cautious movement he advanced a step nearer the tramp. The latter did not appear to notice it.

"Well, what else do you want?" asked the ragged fellow. "That's not sayin' I'm goin' to do what you asked me first, though," he sneered.

His light was now flickering about on the rain-soaked ground, making little rings of illumination.

"Will you tell me how you got that scar on your cheek?" asked Tom suddenly.

Involuntarily the man's hand went to the evidence of the old wound. Up flashed the light into Tom's face again, and as it was held up there came this sharp question, asked with every evidence of fear:

"What--what do you know about that?"

"I know more than you think I do," said Tom, still speaking with a confidence he did not feel. Again he took a cautious step forward. He was now almost within leaping distance of the tramp.

"Well then, if you know so much there's no need of me telling you,"

sneered the ragged man. "I've had enough of this," he went on, speaking roughly. "I don't see why I should waste time talking to you in this confounded rain. I'm going to leave."

"Not until you answer me one more question," said Tom firmly, and he gathered himself together for that which he knew must follow.

"Seems to me you're mighty fond of askin' questions," sneered the tramp, "an' you don't take the most comfortable places to do it in.

Well, fire ahead, and I'll answer if I like."

Tom paused a moment. He looked about in the surrounding blackness, as if to note whether help was at hand, or perhaps to discover if the person he had come out to meet was near. But, there was no movement.

There was no sound save the swish of the rain about the two figures so strangely contrasted, confronting one another. Off in the distance, down the hill, could be seen the dim lights in the old farmhouse of Mr.

Appleby.

"Well?" asked the tramp, in a hard voice. "Go ahead, an' get done with it. I'm tired of standing here." He had released his thumb from the spring of the electric torch, and the light went out, making the spot seem all the blacker by contrast.

Tom drew in his breath sharply. Taking a stride forward, and reaching out his two muscular arms in the darkness, he asked in a low voice:

"How much did you pay for that cyanide of pota.s.sium, Jacob Crouse?"