Part 32 (2/2)
”But how did you come to be on hand, Leon?”
”Followed you,” was the terse reply.
”From the camp?”
”Yes.”
”Why?”
”Wanted to get even with you.”
”You're talking in riddles,” Reade protested, in a puzzled tone.
”At the same time I'm greatly obliged to you.”
”Thought you'd be,” grunted Leon. ”That's how I got even.”
”What do you mean?” Tom wanted to know. ”You got even by placing me under a great obligation?”
”Just that,” nodded the cook, ”we had trouble, once, and you came out on top, didn't you?”
”Yes; but that little affair needn't have prevented us from being friends.”
”It did, until I had done something to make you needed me as a friend,” the cook declared.
Tom laughed at this statement of the case. It accorded quite closely, however, with the cook's generally sulky disposition. Even a friends.h.i.+p Leon would offer or accept grudgingly.
”But why did you follow me?” Tom continued, as they neared the camp.
”Did you think I was going to run into danger?”
Leon hesitated.
”Well,” he admitted, finally, ”when I saw you stealing off, soft like, I had a queer notion come over me that, maybe, you were discouraged, and that you were going off to put an end to yourself.”
Tom started, stared in amazement, then spoke in a tone of pretended anger:
”Much obliged for your fine opinion of me, Leon,” he declared.
”Only cowards and lunatics commit suicide.”
”That's all right,” nodded the cook doggedly. ”I've seen men lose their minds out here in these gold fields.”
They were now in camp.
”Wait, and I'll call Ferrers and a few of the men, Leon,” Tom proposed.
”What for? To stand guard?”
”No; we must send back a few of the men to find that man you wounded.
<script>