"Yes; it's I---Reade."
"A thousand pardons, Senor!"
"So this is you, Nicolas?"
"Yes, Senor."
"What are you doing here?"
"The negro got away from me."
"I know that, but---"
"I could not help it, Senor. I assure you I was not careless."
"I never knew you to be careless, Nicolas."
"Thank you, Senor. But I stood over that black scoundrel, watching for
the slightest move on his part. I had my forefinger ready, and he did not
dare move."
"I can quite believe that," agreed Tom, dryly, "after the poke you just
gave me."
"Again a thousand pardons, Senor, but in the dark, and awaking so suddenly,
I did not see you or know you."
"I can quite believe that, Nicolas."
"As I was saying, Senor, I was watching over the black man when some one
came up behind me---so softly that I did not hear. But I felt. _Ah!_ What
I felt! It was a fist that seemed to break in the top of my head. Down I
went, and I heard a voice. I knew that voice, too. So would you have
known it, Senor!"
"Whose voice was it?" asked Tom, curiously.
"The voice of Evarts."
"The discharged foreman?"
"Yes, Senor. But I am delaying my story. While Evarts was speaking I
heard another sound.
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