oad 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 lowe