h it. Do you get that?"

"I told you you was."

"Slady, I never knew what I was going to get up against, or I would
never have tried to swing this thing. If you'd turned out to be a
different kind of a fellow I wouldn't have felt so much like a sneak.
It's _you_ that makes me feel like a criminal--not those sleuths and
bloodhounds out there. Listen, Slady; it's a kind of a camp-fire story,
as you would call it, that I'm going to tell you."

He laid his hand on Tom's arm as he talked and so they sat there on the
rough sill of the cabin doorway, Tom silent, the other eager, anxious,
as he related his story. The birds flitted about and chirped in the
trees overhead, busy with their morning games or tasks, and below the
voices of scouts could be heard, thin and spent by the distance, and
occasionally the faint sound of a diver with accompanying shouts and
laughter which Tom seemed to hear as in a dream. Far off, beyond the
mountains, could be heard the shrill whistle of a train, bringing
scouts, perhaps, to crowd the already filled tent space. And amid all
these distant sounds which, subdued, formed a kind of outdoor harmony,
the voice of Tom's companion sounded strangely in his ear.

"My home is out in Broadvale, Ohio, Slady. Ever hear of it? It's west of
Dansburg--about fifty miles. I worked in a lumber concern out there. Can
you guess the rest? Here's what did it, Slady, (and with admirable
dexterity he went through the motions of shuffling cards and shooting
craps). I swiped a hundred, Slady. Don't ask me why I did it--I don't
know--I was crazy, that's all. So _now_ what have you got to say?" he
inquired with a kind of recklessness, releasing Tom's arm.

"I ain't got anything to say," said Tom.

"They don't know it yet, Tommy, but they'll know it Monday. The
accountants are on the job Monday. So I beat it, while the going was
good. I started east, for little old New York. I intended to change my
name and get a job there and lay low till I could make good. I thought
they'd never find me in New York. My right name is Thornton, Slady. Red
Thornton they call me out home, on account of this brick dome. Tommy,
old boy, as sure as you sit there I don't know any more about the boy
scouts than a pig knows about hygiene. So now you've got my number,
Slady. What is it? Quits?"

"If you knew anything about scouts," Tom said, with the faintest note of
huskiness in his voice, "you'd know that they don't call quits. If I was
a