SOME DISCOVERIES.
David would have been glad to reason with his father, but he had not
been allowed the opportunity, and now it was too late to find one.
His first thought was of the pointer. Giving the animal a hasty kick,
to start him on his way home, David sought to save himself by flight,
although he had little hope of success. Everybody said he was a swift
runner for a boy of his age, and he did his best now, but fast as he
went, Godfrey gained at every step. David heard his heavy footfalls
growing louder and more distinct, and once or twice he lost all
heart, and was on the point of stopping and surrendering at
discretion. But he knew that the beating he would receive would be a
most severe one, and he was sure he did not deserve it, and that his
father had no business to give it to him. This thought lent him
wings, and a few more jumps brought him to the bayou.
"I've got you now!" cried Godfrey, and David heard the switch whistle
through the air, as his pursuer made an effort to reach him with it.
Godfrey thought the bayou would offer an effectual check to David's
flight, but the boy himself looked upon it as his only means of
escape. He ran straight to the bank, which at this point arose almost
perpendicularly from the water to the height of at least twenty feet,
and just as Godfrey was stretching forth his hand to seize him by the
collar, he disappeared. His pursuer tried to stop himself, but so
rapid was his flight that he made one or two involuntary steps, and
it was only by catching hold of a friendly bush that he saved himself
from following David over the bluff.
"Dog-gone my buttons!" thought Godfrey, gazing in astonishment at the
bubbles on the surface of the water, which marked the spot where
David had gone down. "Who'd a thought he would a jumped into the
Bayou sooner nor take a leetle trouncin'? He's gettin' to be a
powerful bad boy, Dave is, an' I had oughter be to hum every day to
keep him straight. Come back here!" he shouted, as the fugitive's
head suddenly bobbed up out of the water. "If you'll ketch the pinter
fur me an' promise to say nothin' to nobody, I'll let you off this
time."
David could not say a word in reply. He felt as if every drop of
blood in his body had been turned into ice. He wiped the water from
his eyes, glanced over his shoulder, to make sure that his father had
not followed him into the bayou, and struck out for the opposite
bank. Godfrey coaxed, promised and threatened to no purpose. David
would not come back, and neither would he make any answer. He held as
straight across the bayou as the current would permit, and when he
reached the shore, he climbed out and disappeared in the bushes.
"He's gone," thought Godfrey, throwing away his switch and slowly
retracing his steps toward the camp, "an' here's more trouble for me.
The pinter's gone too, an' that takes money outen my pocket an' puts
it into the pockets of them pizen Gordons. Dave'll tell everything he
knows as soon as he gets hum, an' that'll bring the constable up here
arter me. I must go furder back in the cane, but I won't go outen the
settlement, an' nobody shan't drive me out nuther, till I get my
hands onto them hundred an' fifty dollars. Then nobody won't ever
hear of me ag'in--Dan nor none of 'em. It's jest a trifle comfortin'
to know that that thar mean Dave can't do no more shootin'; he lost
his gun."
Yes, David's faithful friend and companion was gone. It slipped from
his grasp as he struck the water, and was now lying at the bottom of
the bayou. He felt the loss as keenly as Don Gordon would have felt
the loss of his fine breech-loader.
David thought he had never before been so nearly frozen as he was
when he struck the opposite bank of the bayou; but a few minutes'
vigorous exercise put his blood in circulation again, and then he
began to feel more comfortable. He followed the bayou until he
reached the lake, and then he plunged into the water again, and swam
across to the other shore. It was cold work, but he had no boat, and
so there was nothing else he could do. He was a very forlorn-looking
object indeed, when he reached the cabin. Dan, who was still sunning
himself on the bench, must have thought so, for when his brother
first appeared in sight, he jumped up and stared at him as if he
could not quite make up his mind whether the approaching object was
David Evans, or one of the dreaded haunts that lived in the General's
lane. He could not wholly satisfy himself on this point until he had
made some inquiries. "Is that you your own self, Davy?" he asked,
holding himself ready to take to his heels in case a satisfactory
answer was not promptly returned.
David replied that it was.
"What's the matter of you, an' whar you been?" continued Dan. "Whar's
your gun?"
"I have swam the bayou twice, and I have been taking a walk in the
woods. My gun is in the water near the foot of Bruin's Island."
Dan opened his eyes and was about to propound a multitude of
questions, when something that came around the corner of the cabin
just then checked him. It was Don Gordon's pointer. He had found his
way to the cabin and taken quiet possession of his bed in the kennel,
and Dan was none the wiser for it until that moment. Hearing the
sound of David's voice, the dog came out to meet him, and the two
appeared to be overjoyed to see each other again. Dan opened his eyes
wider than ever, and backed toward his seat on the bench without
saying a word.
"I found him right where you left him, Dan," said David, who thought
it high time his brother should know that some of his mean acts were
being brought to light. "I've got him again, you see, and you'll
never have another chance to steal him."
"What have you got, an' whar did I leave him?" Dan managed to ask at
last.
"O, I wouldn't try to play off innocent, if I were you. I know all
about it; and I want to tell you now that you had better turn over a
new leaf and be quick about it, too. Mother says that if folks don't
grow better every day, they grow worse, and I can see that it is true
in your case and father's. You are both going down hill, and the
first thing you know you'll do something that will get you in the
calaboose. Three months ago neither one of you would have been guilty
of stealing."
"Whoop!" yelled Dan, jumping up and knocking his heels together.
"I don't want to go back on either one of you," continued David, "and
neither do I want to tell mother how bad you are; but I'll do it
sooner than let you swindle Don Gordon or anybody else. Why don't you
go to work?"
"Kase I've got jest as much right to set around an' do nothin' as
other folks has," answered Dan, who had had time to recover himself
in some measure. "That's jest why!"
"Mother and I don't sit around and do nothing."
"No, but them Gordons does."
"No, they don't. They all work, Don and Bert as well as the rest."
"If I hadn't seed them ridin' round so much on them circus hosses an'
sailin' in them painted boats of their'n, mebbe I'd be willin' to
b'lieve that," said Dan. "They don't work, nuther. They don't do
nothin', but have good times. They've got good clothes an' nice
things, an' I've got jest as much right to 'em as they have."
"Those ideas will get you into trouble some day," replied David,
earnestly. "If you want nice things go to work and earn them; that's
the way to get them."
While this conversation was going on, David was pulling off his wet
clothes and putting on his best suit, the one he wore on Sundays. It
was not just such a suit as the most of us would like to go to church
in, but it was whole and neat, and David looked like another boy in
it. He kept the pointer in the house with him all the while, for fear
that his brother might attempt to steal him again; but Dan was too
much astonished at the turn affairs were taking, and too badly
frightened, to make any more efforts to win the ten dollars reward.
He sat on the bench, with his eyes fastened thoughtfully on the
ground, and saw David come out with the pointer and lead him down the
road toward General Gordon's, without saying a word.
When David reached the barn he walked straight through it to the
shop, and there he found Don and Bert, busy at work building more
traps. They were surprised to see him dressed in his best, and still
more surprised, and delighted too, when the pointer bounded in and
fawned upon them.
"Father said that the offer of a reward would bring him if anything
would," exclaimed Don, as he wound his arms around the animal's neck
and hugged him as he might have hugged a brother he had not seen for
a long time.
"Yes, the reward did it," replied David, and that was true. If Dan
had not seen the notice in the post-office, he never would have had
that conversation with David, and consequently the latter would not
have known where to go to find the pointer.
"We all thought he was stolen," continued Don. "I am glad you are the
one to bring him back, for I would rather give you the ten dollars
than give it to anybody else."
"I don't want the money," said David, "and I won't take it."
"You can't help yourself. Where did you find him?"
"Didn't you promise that you wouldn't ask any questions?" asked
David, with a smile.
"Well----yes, I did," answered Don, somewhat astonished. "But I made
that promise just to let the thief see that he would run no risk in
returning the dog. I can question you, can't I?"
"I'd rather you wouldn't."
Don uttered a long-drawn whistle and looked at Bert to see what he
thought about it; but the blank expression on the latter's face
showed that he was altogether in the dark.
"Well, let it go," said Don, picking up his hammer again. "I've got
the dog back and with that I'll be satisfied. You'll take him home
with you tonight, of course?"
"No, I think not. I am afraid to take him there."
"Then leave him here," said Don, who now began to think that he knew
pretty nearly what had been going on. "He'll be safe with us, and you
can find him when you want him. He isn't broken yet."
"I know it, but I can't do any more for him. I shall have to give you
back your ten dollars."
"I'll not take it. A bargain is a bargain. I want my dog broken, and
you need the money to send off your quails with."
"I know it," said David again; "but I can't shoot any more birds over
him. I have no gun."
"Where is it?"
"At the bottom of the bayou."
The brothers grew more and more astonished the longer they talked
with David, and Don told himself that there had been some queer
doings in the settlement that morning. His interest and curiosity
were thoroughly aroused, but he did not ask any more questions, for
he knew that David could not explain matters without exposing one or
more members of his own family. He turned the conversation into a
new channel by saying suddenly:
"Bert and I made the rounds of the traps this morning, and took out a
hundred and fifty birds. What do you say to that?"
Under almost any other circumstances David would have had a good deal
to say about it; but just now he seemed to have lost all interest in
his business. It would have been hard for any boy to wear a merry
smile and keep up a light heart after such a scene as David had
passed through that morning. He could not banish it from his memory.
His father was hiding in the woods, because he was afraid to show his
face among his neighbors again; he was a receiver of stolen property
and his brother Dan was a thief, and the remembrance of these facts
was enough to depress the most buoyant spirits. David wanted to do
something to bring his father and brother to their senses, and induce
them to become decent, respected members of the community, but he
did not know how to set about it, and there was no one of whom he
could ask advice. He never talked to his mother about the family
difficulties now. She had more than her share of trouble, and David
always tried to talk about cheerful things when he was in her
presence.
"Doesn't it cheer you up any to know that your business is
prospering?" exclaimed Bert. "Then we will tell you something else.
How would you like to be mail carrier? How would you like to put
thirty dollars in your pocket every month?"
"That is more money than I shall be able to earn for long years to
come," replied David.
"Perhaps not. Father told us this morning that the old mail carrier
is going to give up his route, his contract having expired, and
he thinks he can get you appointed in his place. He's been to see
Colonel Packard, and Silas Jones, and all the rest of the prominent
men in the settlement, and they have promised to give you all their
influence and to go on your bond."
"What does that mean?" asked David, who now began to show some
interest in the matter.
"Why, there are certain legal forms to go through with, which father
explained, but which I don't pretend to understand," said Bert. "You
must promise to attend to your business----"
"O, I'll do that," exclaimed David.
"Of course you will," said Don, "but that will not satisfy the
authorities in Washington. They don't know you, and even if they did
it would make no difference. The law must be complied with, and you
must give bonds for the faithful performance of your duty. But that
needn't trouble you; father will attend to it. He says your chances
are good, for you are the only one on the track so far."
This was the first time David knew that there was anybody on the
track. He was greatly astonished and delighted, and his attempts to
express his gratitude for the General's kindness and thoughtfulness
were awkward enough. Thirty dollars was a large sum of money in his
eyes. His earnings would amount to three hundred and sixty dollars
a year, and couldn't he and his mother live nicely on that and save
something for a rainy day besides? If he could get the contract, and
his father and Dan would only abandon their lazy, worthless mode of
life and go to work, how happy they would all be!
"What's the matter?" asked Don, for David's face became clouded again
when he thought of his father and Dan.
"There's a good deal the matter," replied David, "but it is nothing I
can help."
"You don't act like yourself at all to-day," continued Don. "Suppose
you go home and take a rest. Don't brood over your troubles, whatever
they are. Let them go, if you can't help them. Think about pleasant
things, and to-morrow you will come up here, feeling like a new boy.
Bert and I will set the traps we have made this morning, and then
we'll go up and take a look at our bear trap."
David thought it would be a good plan to follow this advice, so he
closed the door of the shop to keep the pointer from following him,
and started for home.
"Well," said Bert, as he picked up his knife and resumed work upon
the figure four he was making, "Dave has seen his father!"
"And had trouble with him, too," added Don.
"It was about the pointer," said Bert.
"My idea exactly. Godfrey is hiding somewhere in the cane; Dan wanted
to make a little more money without work, so he stole the pointer
and gave him to his father to keep until I offered a reward for him.
David found it out, and to save me from being swindled, he recovered
the pointer and got himself into difficulty by it."
The boys, who were merely guessing at all this, would have been
surprised to know that their surmises were all correct. David and his
troubles, and his manful efforts to better his condition in spite of
his adverse circumstances, afforded them topics of conversation while
they were at work; and when the figure four, on which Bert was
employed, was completed, the mule was harnessed to the wagon, and the
boys drove off to set the half a dozen new traps they had built that
morning. It was twelve o'clock when they returned, and they found
lunch waiting for them. When they had done ample justice to it, they
began making hasty preparations for their visit to the island, and a
quarter of an hour more saw them well on their way up the bayou.
They found to their great delight that the ducks were beginning to
come in now, and Don was kept busy rowing from one side of the bayou
to the other to pick up the dead and wounded birds that Bert brought
out of the numerous flocks which took wing as they approached. After
a dozen fine fat mallards had been brought to bag, Bert declared
that it was a sin to shoot any more, and took his place at the oars,
while Don sat in the stern and steered.
"These ducks tell us that it is time to go to our shooting-box," said
the latter. "We always wait until they begin to come in before we
make up our party, you know."
"We ought to go over there and fix up a bit first," said Bert. "If we
don't find anything in our trap, let's go over there and see how
things look. We have had some splendid times in that little
shooting-box, haven't we?"
They certainly had, and they found much pleasure in living them over
again in imagination. While they were talking about the many happy
hours they had spent there, they reached Bruin's Island, and Don
brought the canoe around and ran the bow upon the beach. The hounds
jumped out, and running about with their noses close to the ground,
began to show the same signs of excitement that they had exhibited
on the day of their first visit to the island. The boys knew more
now than they did then, and consequently were not in such haste to
declare that it was a bear the dogs scented. It might be Godfrey
Evans; and that he or somebody else had been there since they left
was very evident. Their trap had been sprung by the aid of a long
pole, which was still fast under the heavy roof; the lever and rope
had been carried away; and the bag of corn which Don had hung upon
the sapling had also disappeared. Don was provoked, and laid up in
his mind a few sharp words, to be addressed to Godfrey on the
subject, should they ever happen to meet again; but he had very
little to say. The boys had been thoughtful enough to bring an axe, a
piece of rope and another small bag of corn with them, and, although
they had no assurance that their labor would not be wasted, they set
the trap again and started for home.
"If Godfrey did that," said Don, "he must have swam the bayou, unless
he has a boat hidden away in the bushes somewhere, which is not
likely. If it was summer now, he would probably spring that trap
every day, just to keep us from catching that bear; but the weather
is getting frosty, and he'll not relish many more cold baths. I don't
think he will trouble us that way any more."
When they reached the mouth of the bayou, Bert, who was steering,
directed the canoe across the lake, toward the point on which the
shooting-box was located. During a pause in the conversation, he
looked toward the place where it ought to be, but could see nothing
of it. "What's the matter?" asked his brother, who saw that there
was something wrong.
"That's Long Point, isn't it?" asked Bert, in reply. "It certainly
is, but where's the house?"
"You haven't been there in almost six months, and perhaps you have
forgotten where it is," said Don, with a laugh.
"No, I haven't. It stood close beside a big shell-bark, didn't it?
Well, there's the tree; now show me the shooting-box?"
Don faced about on his seat, expecting to point the building out to
his brother at once, and was a good deal surprised when he found that
he could not see it himself. There was the tree, sure enough, but the
spot which the shooting-box ought to have occupied, was vacant. After
running his eyes all along the shore, to satisfy himself that he had
made no mistake as to the locality, Don picked up the oars again, and
with a few more strokes brought the canoe to the bank. All there was
left of the shooting-box they could have carried away in their arms.
Even the stove had not escaped destruction. The chimney had fallen
upon it and it was completely ruined.
"Godfrey means to put a stop to all our fun if he can, doesn't he?"
said Bert, who thought that a man who would steal a canoe and spring
a trap, would be guilty of any meanness.
"Let's go home," was Don's reply. "We'll have another shooting-box
here some day, Bert, and it will beat the old one all to pieces."
The boys thought they had had hard luck that day, and so did their
father, when he had heard their story; but they came very near having
worse luck that night, and they never knew anything about it until
several days afterward. The General found it out the next morning.
He went to the fields at an early hour, as he always did, to set his
negroes at work, and was met by the hostler, who had an exciting
piece of news to communicate. "Misser Gordon," said he, "Misser Don's
hound dogs done treed two fellers down dar in de quarter. Dey's been
dar all de blessed night top o' dat ar house; yes, sar, dat's what
dey says, sar!"
The General replied that if the two fellows had come there for the
purpose of stealing, he was glad of it, and said he would go and take
a look at them. When he saw them, perhaps he would know where the
contents of his smoke-house had been going lately. He rode down to
the quarters as soon as his horse was brought out, and when he came
within sight of the cabin in which the boys kept their captured
quails, he saw two persons sitting astride of the ridge-pole and
Don's hounds gathered about the building, keeping guard over them.
The General could scarcely believe his eyes, although when he came to
recall several little things which Don and Bert had told him, he was
not so very much surprised after all. The persons whom the hounds had
forced to take refuge on the roof of the cabin were boys; and as soon
as the General was near enough to them to distinguish their features,
he saw that they were Lester Brigham and Bob Owens.