DAVID'S VISITORS.
The trouble began the very next morning. While Godfrey was sitting on
the bench in front of his cabin, deeply engrossed with his own
thoughts, Dan came rushing up with a face full of terror, and
conveyed to him the startling intelligence that a "haunt"--a Northern
boy would have called it a ghost--had been seen at General Gordon's
barn. It looked exactly like old Jordan, the negro, who had buried
the treasure in the potato-patch; but of course it couldn't be old
Jordan, for he had never been heard of since he ran away with the
Yankees, and everybody believed him to be dead. Godfrey listened in
great amazement to his son's story, and, to satisfy himself of the
truth of it, went up to the barn, with his rifle for company. He had
not been there many minutes before he received convincing proof that
Dan had told the truth, for he saw the object with his own eyes--a
feeble old negro, dressed in a white plantation suit, and wearing a
battered plug hat, who limped along in plain view of him, and finally
disappeared, no one could tell how or when. That was enough for
Godfrey. He started for home at the top of his speed, and scarcely
dared to venture out of doors that night. He had an appointment with
Clarence Gordon at dark, but he would not have passed that barn in
his present state of mind, if he had known that he could make twice
eighty thousand dollars by it.
Bright and early the next morning, Clarence came down to see why he
had not kept his promise, and talked to him in such a way that
Godfrey finally agreed to meet him that night, the boy promising to
protect him from anything in the shape of a ghost that might cross
their path. He kept his appointment this time, but he was sorry
enough for it afterward, for the first object on which his eyes
rested, when he and his companion reached the potato-field, was old
Jordan, digging away as if he too were in search of the buried
treasure. Godfrey would have taken to his heels at once, but
Clarence, who did not believe in "haunts," walked up and seized the
negro by the arm. After much argument, Godfrey was induced to do the
same, and then his fears all vanished, for it was a veritable human
being that he took hold of and not a spirit, as he feared it was. He
declared, too, that the interloper was the missing Jordan, beyond a
doubt, and that he had come there to steal the money he had buried in
that same field years before. The negro was commanded to point out
the spot where the treasure was hidden, but nothing could be learned
from the old fellow. He would not speak at all, until Godfrey
threatened to punch him in the ribs with his shovel, and then he
denied all knowledge of the barrel. Upon hearing this, Clarence and
his companion seized him by the arms, dragged him across the field,
over the fence and down the road to Godfrey's potato-cellar, where he
was tied to a stanchion with a plough-line and left with the
assurance that he should never see daylight again until he told where
the fortune was to be found.
Godfrey was stirring the next morning before it was fairly light, and
the first sound that fell on his ears caused him to start and tremble
with terror. He listened until it was repeated, and then started post
haste for General Gordon's house. When he reached it, he found the
whole plantation in an uproar. Don was missing and a search was being
instituted. Clarence came out about this time, and Godfrey told him a
most astounding piece of news. It wasn't old Jordan at all whom they
had captured the night before, it was Don Gordon. Godfrey was sure of
it, for he had heard him whistle as nobody in the world except Don
Gordon could whistle. As soon as Clarence recovered from his
amazement and terror, he mounted Don's pony and set out for the
potato-cellar to see for himself. When he reached it, he found that
the prisoner had already been liberated by somebody (it was Bert, who
was guided to his place of confinement by Don's loud and continued
whistling) and was no doubt on the way home by that time. What was
Clarence to do? Of course he could not go back to the plantation and
face his relatives after what he had done, and there was no other
house in the settlement open to him. Just then he heard the whistle
of a steamer coming up the river, and that settled the matter for
him. He would go home. He jumped on the pony and was riding post
haste toward the landing when he was waylaid by Godfrey Evans, who
robbed him of twenty dollars, all the money he had in the world. As
soon as he was released, Clarence made his way to the landing on
foot, reaching it just in time to secure passage on the Emma Deane,
pawned his watch for money enough to pay his way home, and finally
reached his father's house in safety, only to be packed off to sea on
the school-ship, where he remains to this day.
Don Gordon reached home with his brother's assistance, and has been a
close prisoner there ever since, not yet having recovered from the
effects of his night in the potato-cellar. Godfrey Evans is hiding in
the swamp somewhere, fearing that if he comes home he will be
arrested for three offences--robbing Clarence, assaulting Don, and
trying to steal the eighty thousand dollars, which he still firmly
believes to be hidden in the potato-patch. A week has passed since
the occurrence of the events which we have so rapidly reviewed, and
now that you are acquainted with them, we are prepared to resume our
story.
"And if your father doesn't come back, how are we to live this
winter?" asked Mrs. Evans, continuing the conversation which we have
so long interrupted. "How is _he_ to live?"
"His living will trouble him more than ours will trouble us," replied
David, who, knowing that he was his mother's main dependence now,
tried hard to keep up a brave heart. "It will be cold out there in
the swamp pretty soon. I saw a flock of wild geese in the lake this
morning, and that is a sure sign that winter is close at hand. Father
had no coat on when he went away, and he was barefooted, too. And as
for _our_ living, mother, who's kept you in clothes and coffee, sugar
and tea, for the last year?"
"You have, David. I don't know what I should do without you. You are
a great comfort to me."
"And I'm never going to be anything else, mother. I never made you
cry, did I? I ain't going to, either. I can take care of you, and I
will, too. If I can't get work to do, I can hunt and trap small game,
you know; and if I only had a rifle, I am sure I could kill at least
one deer every week. That, reckoning venison worth six cents a pound,
would bring us in about thirty dollars a month. Who says we couldn't
live and save money on that?"
"But you don't own a rifle," said his mother, smiling at the boy's
enthusiasm.
"Well, that's so," said David, sadly. "But," he added, his face
brightening, "I shall have ten dollars coming to me as soon as Don
Gordon's pointer is field-broken, and you shall have every cent of
it. Besides, you haven't forgotten that I'm going to get a hundred
and fifty dollars for trapping quail for that man up North, have
you?"
"Have you heard from him yet?"
David was obliged to confess that he had not.
"He may have made a bargain with some one else before Don's letter
reached him," continued Mrs. Evans. "You know this is not the only
country in which quails are to be found, and neither are you the only
one who would be glad to make a hundred and fifty dollars by trapping
them."
"I know it, mother; but even if I can't get that job, I can get some
other that will bring us in money," said David, who was determined to
look on the bright side of things. "I'll earn another ten-dollar bill
before the one I get from Don Gordon is gone, you may depend upon
it."
With this assurance the boy kissed his mother and hurried out of the
door, and Mrs. Evans, after clearing away the remnants of their
frugal breakfast, also went out to begin her daily toil at the house
of a neighbor. David made his way around the cabin, and was met by
Don's pointer, which, coming as close to him as the length of his
chain would permit, waited for the friendly word and caress that the
boy never failed to bestow when he passed the kennel in which the
animal was confined. The greeting he extended to his four-footed
friend was a short one this morning, for David had other matters on
his mind. He confidently expected that a few days more would bring
him the wished-for order from the man who had advertised for the
quails, and when it came he wanted to be ready to go to work without
the loss of an hour; so he was spending all his spare time in
building traps. He had four completed already, and just as he had got
boards enough split out for the fifth, he heard the clatter of
horses' hoofs on the road and looked up to see Bert Gordon and his
brother ride up to the fence.
"Why, Don, I am glad to see you out again," exclaimed David, dropping
his hammer and hurrying forward to greet his friend.
"Thank you," replied Don, accepting David's proffered hand. "I assure
you I am glad to be out again, too. It's a fearful bore to be tied up
in the house for a whole week, but I was bound to come down here this
morning, if I had to come in the carriage, for I have news for you,"
added Don, putting his hand into the breast-pocket of his coat.
"Has it come?" asked David, in a voice that trembled with excitement.
"It certainly has. It was addressed to me, you know, and so Bert
opened it. The man says, he wants fifty dozen live quails
immediately, and--but there it is, read it for yourself."
Don produced the letter, and David took it with a very unsteady hand.
A hundred and fifty dollars was a fortune in his eyes, a larger one
too than he had hoped to earn for some years to come. He opened the
letter and one glance at it showed him that the money was his, if he
could only capture the required number of birds. They were to be
trapped at once, the sooner the better, put into boxes, which were to
be marked C. O. D. and forwarded, charges paid, to the address at the
bottom of the letter.
"Cod," repeated David, whose opportunities for learning how business
was transacted had been very limited, "does he mean codfish?" Don and
Bert laughed heartily.
"No," said the former, as soon as he could speak. "C. O. D. means
'collect on delivery.'"
"O," said David, in a tone of voice which showed that he did not yet
fully understand.
"It is nothing to be ashamed of," said Bert; "we didn't know what the
letters meant until father told us."
"That's so," said Don; "how is a fellow to know a thing he has never
had a chance to learn? Now when the birds are caught, you put so many
of them in a box and on each box you mark the value of its contents.
You send a notice of shipment to the man, and he will know when to
look for the birds. When they arrive he pays the amount of your bill
to the express agent, and the agent forwards it to you. You run no
risk whatever, for the man can't get the quails until your bill is
paid."
"Now I'll tell you what we'll do," said Bert, who saw by the
expression on David's face that his brother had not made matters much
clearer by his explanation, "you go to work and catch the quails, and
when you have made up the required number, we'll help you ship them
off."
"That's the idea," said Don. "We'll do anything we can for you."
"Thank you," answered David, who felt as if a tremendous
responsibility had been removed from his shoulders.
"I'll write to the man to-day, informing him that you will go to work
at once," added Don. "I don't suppose you could tell, even within a
week or two, of the time it will take you to fill the order, could
you?"
"I shouldn't like to make a guess," said David. "The birds rove
around so that a fellow can't tell anything about them. They are
plenty now, but next week there may not be half a dozen flocks to be
found."
"Then I will write to him that the best you can say is, that you will
lose no time. How does the pointer come on?"
"Finely," said David. "He works better than half the old dogs now.
He's smart, I tell you."
"He takes after his owner, you see. I hope to get firmly on my feet
next week, and if I do, I want to try him. Good-by."
"Now, there are two friends worth having," thought David, gazing
almost lovingly after the brothers, as they rode away. "I don't
wonder that everybody likes them. A hundred and fifty dollars! Whew!
won't mother have some nice, warm clothes this winter, and won't she
have everything else she wants, too?"
The boy did not see how he could possibly keep his good fortune to
himself until his mother came home that night. His first impulse was
to go over to the neighbor's house, and tell her all about it, but he
was restrained by the thought that that would be a waste of time. He
could make one trap in the hour and a half that it would take him to
go and return, and the sooner his traps were all completed, the
sooner he could get to work. His next thought was that he would let
the traps rest for that day, go down to the landing, purchase some
nice present for his mother and surprise her with it when she came
home. Of course he had no money to pay for it, but what did that
matter? Silas Jones was always willing to trust anybody whom he knew
to be reliable, and when he learned that his customer would have a
hundred and fifty dollars of his own in a few weeks, he would surely
let him have a warm dress or a pair of shoes. When his money came he
would get his mother something fine to wear to church; and, while he
was about it, wouldn't it be a good plan for him to send to Memphis
for a nice hunting outfit and a few dozen steel traps? Like his
father, when he first thought of the barrel with the eighty thousand
dollars in it, David looked upon himself as rich already; and if he
had attempted to carry out all the grand ideas that were continually
suggesting themselves to him, it was probable that his hundred and
fifty dollars would be gone before he had earned them.
"Halloo, there!" shouted a voice.
David looked up and saw another horseman standing beside the
fence--Silas Jones, who kept the store at the landing, and the very
man of whom he had been thinking but a moment before.
"Come here, David," continued Silas. "I am out collecting bills, and
I thought I would ride around and see if you have heard anything of
that respected father of yours during the last few days."
"No, sir; we haven't," answered David, hanging his head.
"Well, I suppose you know that he owes me eight dollars, don't you?"
said Silas.
"I knew he owed you something, but I didn't think it was as much as
that," replied David, opening his eyes. In his estimation, eight
dollars was a debt of some magnitude.
"That's the amount, as sure as you live, and if I had charged him as
much as I charge others, it would have been more. I made a little
reduction to him, because I knew that he didn't own more of this
world's goods than the law allows. What is to be done about it? Am I
to lose my money because he has run away?"
"O, no," said David, quickly. "I'll pay it, and be glad to do so. We
may want groceries some time, you know, when we have no money to pay
for them."
"That's the way to talk. Pay up promptly and your credit will always
be good."
"All I ask of you," continued David, "is that you will wait about a
month longer, until----"
"Can't do it; can't possibly do it," exclaimed Silas, shaking his
head and waving his hands up and down in the air. "Must have money
to-day. My creditors are pushing me, and I must push everybody whose
name is on my books."
"But my name isn't on your books."
"Your father's is, and if you have any honor about you, you will see
the debt paid."
"That's what I mean to do, but I can't pay it now."
"Can't wait a single day," said Silas. "If the money isn't
forthcoming at once, you can't get a single thing at my store from
this time forward, unless you have the cash to plank right down on
the counter."
"I have always paid you for everything I have bought of you," said
David, with some spirit.
"I know it; but your father hasn't, and if you want me to show you
any favors, you will pay that debt to-day. You have always been
called an honest boy, and if you want to keep that reputation, you
had better be doing something."
So saying, Silas wheeled his horse and rode away, leaving David lost
in wonder.