Perhaps it was because Whalen did not think and act quickly enough, or perhaps it was because it was repugnant to his nature to indulge an impulse to concealment; or it may have been that in that short moment of panic he found a kind of cynical abandonment the easiest course. Whatever the cause, he made no additional effort to conceal certain carvings on the rock. Tom saw that the jack-knife had been used to scrape the gray mold out of the letters comprising two names, one carved above the other. The carving, apparently, was by no means as old as much of the idle handiwork along the path for the figures _1907_ were cut beneath the two names. Nor had the work that appearance of creditable care about it which characterized some of the other specimens; the letters were sprawling and irregular. But the names were easy enough to read and Tom Slade, with more presence of mind than Whalen showed, read them aloud without the least suggestion of astonishment or even interest. “Anson Dicker or Dyker—Joe Ganley. Huh. Wonder who those fellows were, hey? Couple of wearie willies maybe. Any objection to me sitting down and resting, Ned? I don’t see much of you these days. Nice and quiet along in here, hey?” CHAPTER XXVI TOM IS TROUBLED If Whalen had any apprehension that the name of Dyker was familiar to Tom it must have been dispelled in Tom’s purposely desultory, cheery talk. But Tom went back to the cottage that night with a burden on his mind. Ned Whalen, his friend and rescuer, was Anson Dyker, he felt sure of it. He had been sitting on a rock talking with the grandson of his little old friend down at Temple Camp, the fugitive murderer of Henry Merrick in Kingston. Here upon this lonely mountain the derelict had been cast up and he, Tom, had found him gazing down afar at the vast reservoir which covered the home of his boyhood. Could there be any doubt of it? Tom thought not. He recalled the look and features of old Caleb as he had seen them in the straining, momentarily aged countenance of his own rescuer. He had ceased to think of that. But now he thought of it in the light of the new discovery. Whalen had searched for that mold-covered record of a visit to the mountain when a boy. And he had been agitated and for a moment had thought of concealing his discovery upon Tom’s approach. Oh, there could be no doubt of it in Tom’s mind. He knew who Joe Ganley was. He recalled the day he had walked to Temple Camp with old Caleb and they had passed a man in the darkness who the old man had thought was Joe Ganley, a former neighbor in the old village. Joe Ganley. So he and the grandson must have been pals. At least in their boyhood they had made the journey up the mountain together.