CHAPTER XVIII.
TALK OF ESCAPE.
“No. 301!”
“That’s me,” murmured Dean.
“No. 1017!”
“Here, sir!” spoke Marcus Ellison.
Both boys looked concerned, and exchanged glances. They mutually feared that the broken ventilator had been discovered, but they were mistaken.
“Report to the warden for duty,” ordered the guard, and he passed on.
The two boys went to the office. The warden regarded them carelessly.
“You understand gardening, you two,” he said. “The guard reports excellent work. Do you like it?”
Marcus answered for both.
“Yes, sir.”
“Well, so long as you obey rules, you two may have the exclusive work. When it rains you can patch up the trellises in the tool shed.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Deserve the favor, that’s all. It’s the easiest and pleasantest work in the place.”
The boys found it so. They were delighted. That morning they plodded in the garden so faithfully that the sentinel on the wall ceased to watch them.
About one o’clock it began to rain. Marcus told the sentinel of the warden’s order.
“All right,” he said.
“What luck!” ejaculated Dean as they entered the tool shed. “Here we can talk unwatched and undisturbed.”
“Yes, but talk low.”
“And you sort of watch out for fear some one might come upon us unexpectedly.”
They were out of sight completely of the guard. Dean began to pleat some cord into trellis-nets, and Marcus sharpened the pruning knives on a whetstone.
And they talked as they worked, casually at first, but finally Dean said, in an explosive tone of voice:
“Marcus!”
“Well, Dean.”
“No chance to smuggle out a letter from here?”
“I fear not.”
“We must wait until letter day?”
“Yes.”
“And that will be?”
“In three weeks.”
“And then?”
“It may or may not go, just as the deputy warden pleases.”
Dean looked worried and thoughtful.
“If it wasn’t for father I shouldn’t care so much,” said Marcus. “It seems rough on us both; you just as you were getting started and I with the papers and money in my possession to clear father.”
“Who could have robbed you?”
“It must have been done by enemies of my father. You, too, are the victim of a plot.”
“Who could have so worked against me?”
“I could find your enemies easier than I could mine.”
“I have no enemies.”
“None at all?”
“A few boyish foes, maybe, as all boys have.”
“Who are they?”
“Why, I suppose about the only boys at Millville who really dislike me are Abner Littleton----”
“Much?”
“He wasn’t very bad, but Rodney Darringford----”
“Go ahead,” said Marcus thoughtfully.
“And Tim Downey----”
“Are they chums?”
“N-no. Say, Marcus!” exclaimed Dean with a start, “what makes you ask me that question?”
“Answer me! Are they chums?”
“Not exactly; but, come to think of it, they both owe me a grudge, and they were on the same boat--the _Warrior_--that brought Jack Carboy and myself from Millville to Springfield.”
“Ah! they were, eh?”
“Yes.”
“Note anything suspicious?”
“Not particularly.”
“Anything not particularly?”
“They spoke to one another.”
“What else?”
“I thought I saw Rodney give Tim some money.”
“And the Darringfords hate Judge Oglesby, don’t they?” persisted the shrewd Marcus, a growing suspicion in his excited eye.
“They don’t like him.”
“And his new steamer would hurt their business?”
“Immensely.”
“I thought so. Dean Mercer, those boys had a hand in the burning of the _Spray_. When we get away from here we’ll try and find out.”
“Eh?”
“When we get away.”
“When we do!”
“Which will be soon.”
“You’re joking!”
“I ain’t.”
“Get away from here?”
“Yes.”
“Escape?”
“Escape.”
“That will not be very soon, I fear,” sighed Dean dejectedly.
“Oh, yes, it will!” replied Marcus with a strangely excited face.
“If we only could!”
“We can.”
“But----”
“Have you pluck?”
“Lots of it.”
“Endurance?”
“Try me.”
“Then we’ll escape!”
“When?”
“To-night!”