COLEMAN PROVES HIS HONESTY.
Mrs. Sprague fastened her eyes on the document, and as she read the
color all left her face. She looked around. There was plenty of
opportunity for her to be overheard now, for they were living in a brush
lean-to, and there were people constantly passing back and forth almost
within reach of them. There were plenty of folks there that could be
trusted with their secret, but there were lots more from whom it must be
kept at all hazards.
“And do you think that some of these people will fight for this money?”
she said in an earnest whisper.
“There are lots of them that will do it,” returned her husband. “You see
we will be as poor as they make them when this thing is ended, and where
they are going to get money to start on, I don’t know. I tell you, we
mustn’t let anybody know it. Put that away and I will go out and call
Leon.”
The heir of all this wealth was found assisting Mr. Giddings, who was
just putting the finishing touches on his brush shanty preparatory to
getting his family under it. He looked up when he saw his father
approaching, and he had never seen him look so white before; but he was
warned by the signal his father made him, and so he didn’t say a word.
His mother handed him the will when he entered their brush lean-to, and
in less time than it takes to tell it Leon was master of its contents.
“A hundred thousand dollars!” he gasped.
“Sh! Not so loud,” cautioned his mother. “You don’t want everybody to
know it, do you? Sit down here and tell us what you think of it.”
“To think that old Mr. Smith, who went about with his knees and elbows
out, should be worth so much money!” said Leon. “It is no wonder that
that fellow wanted to fight for it.”
“Yes, and you must be careful what you say around where he can hear it,”
said his father, who had taken up a position in the door of the lean-to
so that he could partially screen Leon while reading the will. “If he
finds out where that money is hid, it’s all up with you.”
“But he won’t find it,” said Leon, who quickly copied after his father
and spoke in an almost inaudible whisper. “He has got it hidden in the
pig-pen. I was there while he was laying that floor along in the early
part of the war, and he said then that I might some day dig up something
under it. I couldn’t think then what he meant, although I know it now.”
“Well, you had better let your mother take care of the will,” said Mr.
Sprague, “and then if anything happens to us she will know right where
to go and get the money. I tell you that is a good deal more than we
thought we were going to have.”
Leon was almost overwhelmed by the result of the last few minutes, and
if he could have had his own way he would have been glad to get off
somewhere by himself and think the matter over. But now it was
impossible. Everywhere he went there was somebody around, and it seemed
to Leon, now that he thought about it, that those who knew about Mr.
Smith’s will had a way of looking at him as though they knew the secrets
of what was hidden under the pig-pen. Of course, it was all imagination
on his part, but still he wanted to get away and talk the matter over
with Tom Howe.
“Mustn’t I take anybody into my confidence at all, not even Tom?” said
he.
“Take nobody into your confidence,” said his father, earnestly. “You
don’t know what sort of a fellow Tom is. He may be all right to have
around where there’s a jam of logs in the river, but you don’t want to
say anything to him about this money business.”
“Well, when are you going to get it? We’ll have to go away from here in
order to use it.”
“We’ll go to it after this war is settled, and not before. Of course, we
shall have to go away from here, for we can’t use it around where
Leonard Smith is. And here’s another thing I want to tell you. Remember
and keep close within reach of me, and don’t let Smith or anybody else
get you off on one side. If you do, you will suffer for it.”
Leon smiled and wondered what sort of a story Smith could make up to
draw him off in the woods, and it wasn’t so very long before he found
out. Ever since the night that Mr. Smith died, Leonard had been
half-crazy. He had no idea how much the will in the pocket-book
contained, but he was certain that it was enough to keep him all his
days without work. This was what this lazy vagabond was building his
hopes upon. Anyway, he didn’t want the Spragues to have it, and what was
more he was determined that they shouldn’t. If there was any way by
which could get the will, or any means to learn the hiding-place of the
money, why then it would be clear sailing with him. Leon undoubtedly had
time to read the will and find out where the money was concealed, and if
he could get him off by himself somewhere he would find out where that
money was concealed, or he would leave Leon hanging to a tree in the
woods. It took him two days to come to this decision, and all the while
he roamed about over Mr. Smith’s place, poking into every place that he
could think of where there was the least chance of hiding money. When
the funeral procession came there he slunk into the woods, but when they
went away again he came out and renewed his endeavors to find the
fortune.
“There is money hidden somewhere about here, and I am as certain of it
as that I am alive,” said Leonard Smith, when the men who had composed
the funeral procession had gone away. “If it were not that Leon has the
secret stowed away in his head I would up-end him the moment I saw him;
but if I can get him in the woods and make preparations to hang him,
I’ll find out where the money is. I can’t do anything by myself, and I
must have somebody to help me. Now, who shall I get?”
Fortunately it was an easy thing for Leonard Smith to decide upon this
question. He thought over all the worthless fellows who occurred to his
mind just then, and finally hit upon one who was just about of as much
use in the world as he was. Caleb Coleman was on the island beyond a
doubt—he was always around where he was certain there was no danger—and
if he could only get over there and see him he was sure that he could
induce him to lend a hand in finding the money. But the trouble was he
did not care to go around where Leon was.
“I don’t know whether that boy is certain that I am looking for the
money or not, but he acts as if he did,” said Smith, as he took a look
around to make sure that he had not missed any place where he thought
there was a chance of hiding the money.
He had removed every pile of boards there was about the farm-house and
had dug under them until he saw that the earth had not recently been
disturbed, and then threw the piles of boards back again. He had even
been in the cow-stable and plied his search there; but with all his
looking he could not find any place which bore the appearance of having
been dug over, and he was almost inclined to give up his search in
despair. But he had one more trump card to play, and the more he thought
of it the more confident he became that it would surely work.
“Here’s one thing that I have got to blame old Sprague for,” said Smith,
as he picked up his rifle—nobody ever thought of going abroad without a
rifle in war times—and turned his steps toward the island. “He’s gone
and sent off that Newman family, and if they were here I would know
right where to go to find three good men to assist me; but seeing that
he couldn’t mind his own business, I suppose Coleman is the best one I
can get. I’ll bet I will make his eyes open if I promise him one
thousand dollars in gold.”
Smith had not yet been over to the island, but it was no trouble at all
for him to get there, for the boats were constantly employed in carrying
over the household furniture of the refugees. He did not know that there
were so many men in the county before, and when he came to look closely
at them he found that the most of them were strangers. A great many of
them, too, were dressed in rebel uniform, and they worked like honest
men who were anxious to take their families to a place of safety; but he
did not see Coleman there.
“I’ll bet I’ll find him on the island, laid down alongside the fire,”
said Smith, as his boat touched the shore and he jumped off. “You may be
sure that he wouldn’t do any work while there is anybody to do it for
him.”
Smith was surprised to find that no one on the island had missed him,
for nobody spoke to him. The majority of the men were busy building
their houses and getting their household goods under cover, and well
they might be. After they got through here they were to march in a body
down to the hotel and meet the assault of that force which was coming to
crush out the last vestige of the Jones-County Confederacy. The men all
acted with a feverish eagerness, as if they were impatient to get at it.
Smith thought, too, that if that invading force succeeded in following
the Union men to their island they were bound to be whipped. The passage
through the cane was long and winding, and at every turn there were
barricades erected, behind which three or four hundred men could have
resisted a thousand. These breastworks of logs had been thrown up by the
party who came out to build the boats and without any orders from
headquarters, and Mr. Sprague showed what he thought of them by praising
the men without stint.
“You will make good soldiers some day,” said he. “The rebels can’t get
in here any way they can fix it. They are bound to come in column when
they assault these breastworks, because the cane is so thick that they
can’t come in any other way, and before they can get in here they won’t
have a man left.”
“There’s one of them now,” muttered Smith, as he caught sight of Mr.
Sprague standing in the door of his lean-to. If Smith had only known it,
Leon was in the act of reading the will. “If I can get a-hold of that
boy of yours I’ll soon know as much as he does. He knows where the money
is, and he will tell it all sooner than be hung.”
Mr. Sprague bowed to Smith as he passed by, but the latter didn’t pay
any attention to him. The man wanted to know where he could find
Coleman, but he was much too sharp to speak to Mr. Sprague about it. He
kept on a little further, and found somebody of whom he could make
inquiries. Another thing that attracted Smith’s attention right here was
the air of neatness and order with which all the lean-tos were arranged.
They were laid off in streets, so that one could go the whole length of
them on the darkest of nights without stumbling over a brush shanty
which contained some sleeping occupants.
“You will find Caleb up there on the outskirts of the camp,” said the
man of whom he made inquiries. “He’s got sick of poleing the boats over,
and so has gone up to camp to lie down.”
“Then he isn’t doing any work at all?” asked Smith.
“Work? Naw. He says he hain’t got but a little time to stay with his
folks, and so he intends to see them all he can. When we go down there
to meet the rebels, he is going to stay in camp.”
“Then he is just the man I want,” said Smith to himself, as he pursued
his way toward Coleman’s lean-to. “I aint a-going to meet the rebels
myself, and consequently I don’t blame him.”
Smith followed along up the street until he came to the end of it, and
there he found Coleman. The lean-to that he had over him was not very
secure, but Coleman didn’t seem to mind that. He lay stretched out on
the bedding with his pipe in his mouth, and three or four dogs and as
many children kept him company.
“Why don’t you put a roof on your lean-to?” asked Smith. “When it rains
you’ll wish you had paid more attention to it.”
“Well, when it rains I can’t fix it; and now it don’t need it,” replied
Coleman with a laugh. “It will do.”
“Why don’t you get out and pole the boats over?”
“Oh, there’ll be plenty of men besides me to do that little thing,”
replied Coleman. “Besides, I’ve poled some of them over until I am all
tired out.”
“Well, get up, if you can. I want to see you.”
“Anything particular?”
“You will think so when you hear it,” replied Smith, impatiently. “Kick
some of those dogs out of the way and come along with me.”
Coleman arose with an effort, laid the children carefully aside and
followed after Smith, who led the way around on the outside of the
lean-to, being particular to keep out of sight of Mr. Sprague at the
other end of the street. There he threw himself down upon the leaves and
waited for Coleman to join him.
“Sit up closer—not so far off,” he said, when the man halted at least
five feet away. “I have got something in particular that I want to say
to you, and I don’t want anybody to overhear it.”
“It seems to me that you are mighty friendly, now that the old man is
dead and you have come into his fortune,” said Coleman, moving up
closer. “How much did you make out of that? I think I have heard you say
that you wanted as much as twenty-five or thirty thousand dollars.”
“That’s what I said,” answered Smith, frowning fiercely. “But the
trouble is I have not got it.”
“Who has got it, then?” demanded Coleman, looking surprised.
“That little snipe, Leon Sprague. Smith had no business to give it to
him, but he did, and I am left out in the cold.”
“I say! That’s a pretty how-de-do, ain’t it?”
“I should say so. Now, I will give you a thousand dollars if you will
help me to get it.”
“That’s a power of money, ain’t it? But how can I help you?”
“By going to Leon and telling him that I want to see him in the woods,”
said Smith, sinking his voice almost to a whisper. “If I once get him
out there, away from everybody, I will tell him that if he wants to see
daylight again he can tell me where that money is.”
“Good gracious! What are you going to do with him? Kill him?”
Smith nodded.
“Then you can get somebody else to help you get that money,” said
Coleman, drawing a long breath. “You won’t get any help out of me.”
“But think of the thousand dollars,” said Smith, who began to see that
he had made a mistake.
“I don’t care if it’s twice a thousand dollars. I wouldn’t dare show my
face in Jones county again.”
“You needn’t come back to Jones county,” said Smith, who began to fear
that he had run against a snag when he least expected it. “I am not
coming back. I am going over to the rebels.”
“Well, there! That’s just what I expected you to do. Here you promise to
support this government, and then go back on it the first chance you
get!”
“You say you won’t meet the rebels,” retorted Smith.
“I know it; but I didn’t say I was going over to them. Good land! You
can get somebody else to help you,” said Coleman, rising to his feet.
“That’s a little too dangerous a piece of business for me. If that’s all
you wanted to say I’ll go back.”
“Well, here, hold on a minute,” exclaimed Smith, who saw that it would
not do to permit Coleman to go back among his friends feeling as he did
now. “There is all of twenty-five or thirty thousand dollars in that
will, and Leon knows where it is.”
“Let him keep it. That’s what I say.”
“Now, suppose, instead of hanging him,” continued Smith, paying no heed
to the interruption, “we will just make believe to hang him—pull him up
until he sees stars and then pull him down again. We could do that.”
“No, we couldn’t. Leon’s eyes would be unbandaged, and he could easy see
who pulled him up. I tell you you had better get somebody else.”
“Well, I supposed you were willing to work hard for a thousand dollars,”
said Smith, in disgust. “But you are willing to live along just as you
are now, without any thought for the morrow. Thank goodness, there are
plenty of men in this party who will help me.”
“Then you had better get one of them.”
“You won’t say anything about what I have told you?”
“Never a word; only, don’t mention it to me again. I would rather be
poor all my life than make a living in that dishonest way.”
“Say, Coleman, sit down here a minute. I want to whisper something to
you.”
The man was a long time in sitting down. He seemed to think that Smith
had some other terms to disclose which would lead him into his scheme,
whether he wanted to or not.
“I will give you five thousand dollars,” said Smith, in an earnest
undertone. “Just think of that! Here you will be as poor as Job’s
turkey, and that amount of money will easily set you on your feet.”
“I don’t care if it’s ten thousand. I won’t do it.”
“Well, Coleman, I was only just fooling you,” said Smith, and in order
to give color to his words he leaned back and laughed heartily. “You
will do to tie to.”
“Yes?” said Coleman, and he laughed, too, but it was a different sort of
laugh. “You have an awful funny way of fooling a fellow, I must say. If
you were not in earnest when you sat down here I shall miss my guess.”
Coleman got upon his feet again, and Smith was so angry that he let him
go without compelling him to promise over again that he would not tell
anybody of the scheme that had been proposed to him. He laid down on his
bed and filled his pipe, but he rolled over to see where Smith went.
“That fellow is a-going to get himself in a power of disturbance the
first thing he knows,” said he to his wife, as he saw Smith moving down
toward Mr. Sprague’s end of the street. “He is fixing himself to get
hung.”
“Good land! How is that?” exclaimed the woman.
In spite of the fact that he had promised Smith that he would not say a
word about it, it did not take Coleman long to go over his interview
with him, and when he told of the amount of money that had been offered
him his wife fairly gasped for breath.
“I know that is a big sum,” continued Coleman, “but just think of the
danger there will be. If Leon gets off in the woods and don’t come back
they will hunt high and low for him, and it won’t take them long to
determine who it was that had a hand in his taking off. If they
make-believe they were going to hang him, why, of course, he will know
who it was and he’ll tell of it when he comes back. I think I was pretty
smart in keeping out of it. There goes Smith off toward the boats. Now I
believe I’ll go and see Leon.”
Smith had evidently missed his guess by a long ways when he selected
Coleman to assist him. He had never known anything against this man’s
honesty. He supposed, of course, that a fellow who hated to work as bad
as he did, and who was content to lay around home all the time in
company with the dogs and the children in preference to handling an axe,
ought to be willing to engage in anything that he thought would bring
him money; but as it happened, there were some honest men in that party,
although they did wear ragged jackets. Without further thought Coleman
arose and sauntered off toward Mr. Sprague’s end of the street, and when
he came opposite their lean-to he found the boy he wanted to see,
talking with his mother.
“Well, Caleb, what can I do for you to-day?” asked Mr. Sprague, who
still occupied his old position in the door of the lean-to.
“Not a thing,” replied Coleman. “But I want to see Leon for about five
minutes.”
“Do you want him to go out in the woods with you?” said Mr. Sprague,
with a wink that spoke volumes.
“Eh? No; but I want to tell him to keep away from the woods,” replied
Coleman, who wondered if Mr. Sprague knew all about it.
“Well, you might just as well come in here and tell it,” said Mr.
Sprague, taking Coleman by the arm. “There are no secrets between us.”
Coleman went, and in a few minutes was seated on a trunk revealing the
scheme that had been proposed to him. Leon and his father exchanged
significant glances, and the boy thought how wise Mr. Sprague had been
when he advised him to stick closely by his side and to let nothing draw
him away.
“I did say that I wouldn’t tell this to anybody,” said Coleman, in
conclusion. “And I won’t tell it to any one except you-uns, who are so
deeply interested in it. You won’t tell on me?”
“Did he say how much he was going to get?” asked Leon, after his father
had made the required promise.
Coleman replied that he thought he was going to get twenty-five or
thirty thousand dollars, and this proved that Mr. Smith did not know
anything of the value of the deceased man’s legacy.
“That’s a heap of money,” said Leon. “And now, Coleman, I’ll tell you
what we will do with you. If you will stay around with Smith and learn
all you can in regard to his plans you shall not lose anything by it. I
want to find out if he gets somebody else to assist him.”
Coleman promised, and having had his talk out went away.
“I can easily give him a thousand dollars to pay him for the trouble he
has taken,” said Leon.
“But you must remember that you haven’t got the money yet,” said his
father.
“Oh, I know I shall have some trouble in getting it,” said Leon, while
that firm expression settled about his mouth. “When this trouble is over
that fellow is going to camp on the place, and just as likely as not he
will shoot down everybody who goes anywhere near the money.”
“Leon, I am afraid to have you go there,” said Mrs. Sprague.
“But think of the money! I tell you that will set us up. Then I can get
an education. That’s one thing I will never have if I stay down here.”
The matter was settled for the time being by Mrs. Sprague’s putting the
will into her bosom and pinning it fast; then Leon went out and mingled
with his fellow-refugees. But his feelings were very different from
those which he had experienced when he followed his father into the
lean-to. When he came to think of what the will bequeathed him it fairly
took his breath away. It would get them a little home somewhere, his
mother would be obliged to do no more work, and, better than all, he
would have money enough left to send him to school.
“Well, Leon, you seem to be particularly happy, and so am I,” said Mr.
Giddings, as he took his seat near the door of his lean-to, pulled off
his hat and wiped the big drops of perspiration from his forehead. “Or
rather, I should be happy if my brothers were out of prison. I expect
they have been executed by this time.”
“If I thought that, it would make me shoot to kill,” said Leon.
“Oh, won’t I, when I get the chance!” replied Mr. Giddings, with so much
excitement that Leon was glad he was not a rebel. “I am waiting for the
colonel to say the word and get me down there where I will have full
swing at them, and then every one that I pull on goes up. I tell you,
you don’t know anything about rebellion down here.”
This started Mr. Giddings on his favorite subject of conversation, and
Leon sat there and listened to him until they were called to supper.