CONCLUSION.
Bob and his companion were so utterly disheartened, and so nearly
overcome with the cold, that they no longer looked upon exposure as
the worst thing that could happen to them. They had made up their
minds that it could not be avoided, and told themselves that the
sooner it was over and they were allowed to leave their airy perch
the sooner they would breathe easily again. They could not talk now.
They could only sit and gaze in the direction in which the hostler
had disappeared, and wait for somebody to come and call off the dogs.
Bob hoped _that_ somebody would be Bert. He was a simple-minded
little fellow, and might be persuaded to believe the story that Bob
had told the hostler. But Bert did not come to their relief; it was
his father. When Bob saw him he wished most heartily that the roof
would open and let him down out of sight.
"Why, boys, what is the meaning of this?" asked the General, as soon
as he came within speaking distance.
"It means that we have been up here since midnight and are nearly
frozen," replied Bob, trying to smile and looking as innocent as a
guilty boy could. "We were out 'coon-hunting in the river bottoms and
came through your fields, because that was the nearest way home; but
the dogs saw us and drove us up here."
The General had but to use his eyes to find all the evidence he
needed to prove this story false. The meal bags, in which the boys
expected to carry away the stolen quails, were lying on the ground
in plain sight, one of them having fallen in such a position that
the owner's name, which was painted on it in large black letters,
was plainly visible. More than that, under one of the planks which
protected the window, was the iron lever with which Bob had tried to
force an entrance into the cabin. He left it sticking there when he
fell off Lester's shoulders.
"Well, you may come down now," said the General. "The hounds will not
trouble you."
It was easy enough to say come down, but it was not so easy to do it,
as the boys found when they began working their way over the frosty
roof. The shingles were as slippery as glass, and their hands seemed
to have lost all their strength; but they reached the ground without
any mishap, and were about to hurry away as fast as their cramped
legs would carry them, when the General asked:
"Hadn't you better go up to the house and get warm?"
"O, no, thank you, sir," replied Bob. "We'll go directly home. Our
folks will wonder what has become of us."
"Are these your bags?"
"No, sir," replied Bob, promptly. "One doesn't usually carry meal
bags to bring home 'coons in."
"I am aware of that fact," said the General, "but couldn't they be
used to carry quails in? These bags have you father's name on them,
and you had better come and get them."
These words were uttered in a tone of command, and Bob thought it
best to obey. He snatched up the bags, and with Lester by his side
made his way down the lane with all possible haste. When they were
safe in the road, Bob drew a long breath and remarked:
"That's the end of that scrape."
"I don't see it," returned Lester. "It is only the beginning of it.
Everybody in the settlement will know it before night."
"Who cares if they do?" cried Bob, who began to feel like himself,
now that he was on solid ground once more. "They can't prove that
we went there to steal the quails, and we'll not confess it."
"No, sir," replied Lester, emphatically. "You're a sharp one, Bob, to
make up such a plausible story on the spur of the moment, but I know
the General did not believe a word of it."
"So do I, but what's the odds? Let's see him prove that I didn't tell
him the truth. Now the next thing is something else; we must make up
a story to tell my folks when we get home."
"Can't we run back to the house and go to bed before any of the
family are up?"
"I am afraid to try it. A better plan would be to go back in the
woods and build a fire and get warm. Then we'll go home, and if
anybody asks us where we have been, we'll say we couldn't sleep,
and so we got up and went 'coon-hunting."
"I wish we had one or two 'coons to back up the story," said Lester.
"O, that wouldn't help us any. People often go hunting and return
empty-handed, you know."
Leaving Bob and his friend to get out of their difficulties as best
they can, we will go back to Godfrey's cabin and see what the two
boys who live there are doing. The day of rest, which Don said would
work such wonders in David, did not seem to be of much benefit to him
after all. He had been somewhat encouraged by Bert's cheering words
and the knowledge that influential friends were working for him, and,
like Bob Owens, he had indulged in some rosy dreams of the future;
but that short interview with the young horsemen who met him in the
road below the General's house, reminded him that he had active
enemies, who would not hesitate to injure him by every means in their
power. He thought about his father all day, and wondered if there
was anything he could do that would bring him back home where he
belonged, and make a respectable man of him. He had ample leisure to
turn this problem over in his mind, for he was alone the most of the
day. As soon as he reached the cabin, Dan, who acted as if he did not
want to be in his brother's company, shouldered his rifle and went
off by himself; and it was while he was roaming through the woods
that he made a discovery which did much to bring about some of the
events we have already described.
Dan felt so mean and sneaking that he did not want to see anybody, if
he could help it; and when he accidentally encountered Bob Owens and
Lester Brigham in the woods, he darted into the bushes and concealed
himself. He watched them while they were watching Don and Bert,
and when he saw them hitch their horses and creep along the fence
in pursuit of the wagon, he suddenly recalled some scraps of a
conversation he had overheard a few days before. He knew that Lester
was working against David, and believing from his stealthy movements
and Bob's that there was mischief afoot, he followed them with the
determination of putting in a word, and perhaps a blow, if he found
that David's interests were in jeopardy. He saw every move the two
boys made. He was lying in the bushes not more than fifty yards from
them, while they were watching Don and Bert put the captured quails
into the cabin, and when they went back to the place where they had
left their horses, they passed so close to him that he caught some of
their conversation. When they were out of sight and hearing Dan arose
and sat down on the nearest log to make up his mind what he was going
to do about it.
"I'll bet a hoss you don't steal them quail nor set fire to the
cabin, nuther," said he, to himself. "Thar's a heap of birds in
thar--seems to me that they had oughter ketched 'most as many as they
want by this time--an' they shan't be pestered; kase if they be,
what'll become of my shar' of them hundred an' fifty dollars? It'll
be up a holler stump, whar I thought it had gone long ago!"
Dan knew that if Lester and his friend had any designs upon the cabin
and the quails that were in it, they would not attempt to carry them
out before night; but the fear that something might happen if he went
home again troubled him greatly, and he resolved that he would not
lose sight of the cabin for a few hours at least. He did not know
what he would do to Lester and Bob if he caught them in the act of
trying to steal the quails; that was a point on which he could not
make up his mind until something happened to suggest an idea to him.
While he was sitting in his place of concealment, thinking busily, he
heard a rustling in the bushes and looked up to see one of Don's
hounds approaching.
In the days gone by, before Dan became such a rascal as he was now,
he had often accompanied Don and Bert on their 'coon and 'possum
hunting expeditions, and the old dogs in the pack were almost as well
acquainted with him as they were with their master. Bose recognised
him at once, and appeared to be glad to see him.
"I want you to stay here with me till it comes dark, ole feller,"
said Dan, patting the animal's head. (He never kicked the hounds, as
he did the pointer. He knew better.) "If them fellers comes we'll
make things lively fur 'em. You hear me?"
Dan waited almost twelve hours before he had an opportunity to carry
out the plan he had so suddenly formed. When he became tired of
sitting still and began to feel the cravings of appetite, he went
into the woods and shot four squirrels which Bose treed for him.
These he roasted over a fire and divided with his four-footed friend.
When it began to grow dark he went back to his hiding-place, where he
remained until he thought it time to take up a new position. This was
by the side of the road, and a short distance from the big gate,
which opened into the lane leading to the negro quarters. There Dan
lay for almost four hours, stretched out behind a log, with the hound
by his side. He saw several negroes pass in and out of the gate, and,
although some of them walked by within ten feet of him, no one saw
him, and the well-trained hound never betrayed his presence by so
much as a whimper.
Finally, to Dan's great relief, the lights in the General's house
were put out, then a door or two was slammed loudly in the quarters,
and after that all was still. Dan had grown tired of watching and
must have fallen asleep, for he knew nothing more until a low growl
from the hound aroused him. He was wide awake in an instant, and
having quieted the animal by placing his hand on his neck, he looked
all around to see what it was that had disturbed him. He heard
footsteps in the field on the opposite side of the road, and
presently two figures appeared and clambered over the fence. They
crossed to the gate, which they opened and closed very carefully and
went down the lane.
"Them's our fellers, Bose," whispered Dan, who was highly excited.
"They've got bags slung over their shoulders, an' they think they're
goin' to play smash stealin' them birds of our'n; but me and you will
see how many they'll get, won't we?"
As soon as Bob and Lester were out of hearing Dan arose, and holding
the hound firmly by the neck with one hand he opened the gate with
the other, and moved noiselessly down the lane toward the quarters.
His plan was to make sure that Bob and his friend had come there to
force an entrance into the cabin in which the quails were confined,
and if he found that that was their object, he would make a pretence
of setting Bose upon them. He did not intend to do so in reality, for
he knew the dog too well. The animal always did serious work when
he began to use his teeth, and Dan didn't want either of the young
thieves killed or maimed. He knew that if he could excite the hound
and induce him to give tongue, the rest of the pack would be on the
ground in two minutes' time; and as they were all young dogs (Carlo
was shut up in the barn every night to do guard duty there), they
would not be likely to take hold of the boys, if left to themselves.
They would not permit them to escape, either. They would surround
them and keep them there until morning, and that was what Dan wanted.
He could not afford to watch the cabin every night, and he thought it
would be a good plan to give Bob and his friend a lesson they would
not forget.
That the prowlers had come there to force an entrance into the cabin,
was quickly made plain to even Dan's dull comprehension. He saw them
try the door, and then go around to the other side of the building
and attempt to pry off the planks that covered the window. Dan heard
something crack as Bob laid out his strength on the lever he was
using, and believing that the thieves were on the point of
accomplishing their object, he uttered a loud whistle to let the rest
of the pack know that they were wanted, and shouted:
"Here they be! Take 'em, fellers! Take 'em down!"
Bose, who had been growing more and more impatient every moment, was
quite ready to obey. Uttering a loud yelp, which was almost
immediately answered by the rest of the pack, he raised himself upon
his hind legs, and struggled so furiously to escape that Dan was
obliged to drop his rifle and seize him with both hands. But when the
brute was thoroughly aroused, it was hard to restrain him. The thick,
loose skin on the back of his neck did not afford Dan a very good
hold, and almost before he knew it, Bose slipped from his grasp, and
bounded toward the cabin. At the same instant, a chorus of loud bays
sounding close at hand announced that the rest of the pack were
coming at the top of their speed. Bob and Lester had never before
been in so much danger as they were at that moment.
Dan, who began to fear that the plan he had adopted for protecting
the quails was about to result in a terrible tragedy, was very badly
frightened. He stood for a few seconds as if he had been deprived of
all power of action, and then caught up his rifle and took to his
heels. He ran as if the pack were after him instead of Bob and
Lester, and never slackened his pace until he was out of hearing of
their angry voices. He crept home like a thief and got into bed
without arousing either David or his mother. But he could not sleep.
He was haunted by the fear that something dreadful had happened down
there in the quarters, and that there would be a great uproar in the
settlement the next morning. He felt that he could never be himself
again until he knew the worst, so a little while before daylight he
put on his clothes, slipped quietly out of the cabin and bent his
steps toward the big gate near which he had been concealed the night
before. By the time he reached it there, was light enough for him to
distinguish objects at a considerable distance, and we can imagine
how greatly relieved he was when he discovered Bob and Lester perched
upon the ridge pole of the cabin. At first, he thought his eyes were
deceiving him, but a second look told him that there was no mistake
about it. He would have been glad to know if either of them had been
injured by the hounds before they got there, but that was something
he could not find out just then. They had not been torn in pieces, as
he feared, and that was a great comfort to him.
"They never had a closer shave, that thar is sartin," thought Dan, as
he turned about and trudged toward home. "I wonder what pap would say
if he knowed what a smart trick I played onto 'em! I wish I could go
an' tell him, but I am a'most afeared, kase he must be jest a bilin'
over with madness. He's lost the pinter--I reckon Dave must have
stole him, kase I don't see how else he could have got him--an' I
don't keer to go nigh him ag'in, till I kin kinder quiet his feelin's
by tellin' him some good news 'bout them hundred an' fifty dollars."
The events of this night were the last of any interest that
transpired in the settlement for more than two weeks. Affairs seemed
to take a turn for the better now, and the boy trapper and his two
friends were left to carry out their plans without any opposition.
Bob and Lester kept out of sight altogether; but they need not have
been so careful to do that, for the General was the only one who was
the wiser for what they had done, and he never said a word about it
to anybody. They could not even muster up energy enough to go out of
nights to rob David's traps; and perhaps it was just as well that
they did not attempt it, for they might have run against Dan Evans in
the dark. The latter spent very little time at home now. He was
sometimes absent for two days and nights, and David and his mother
did not know what to make of it. He had built a camp near the field
in which the traps were set, and there he lived by himself,
subsisting upon the squirrels and wild turkeys that fell to his
rifle.
Things went on smoothly for a week, and during this time David and
his friends were as busy as they could be. Quails were more abundant
than they had ever known them to be before. They seemed to flock into
the General's fields on purpose to be caught, and before many days
had passed, it became necessary to fit up another cabin for the
reception of the prisoners. In the meantime the General's timber and
nails were used up rapidly. The boys had the hardest part of their
work to do now, and that was to build a sufficient number of coops to
hold all the birds. Silas Jones said that the Emma Deane was expected
down every day, and Don declared that the birds must be shipped on
her when she came back from New Orleans, if it took every man and
woman on the plantation to get them ready. She came at last, and Don
was at the landing to meet her. He held a short interview with her
captain and Silas Jones, who was freight agent as well as express
agent and post-master, and when it was ended he jumped on his pony
and rode homeward as if his life depended upon the speed he made.
When he arrived within sight of the field where the traps were set,
he saw his brother and David coming in with another wagon load of
birds.
"How many this morning?" asked Don.
"We have enough now to make fifty-five dozen altogether," replied
Bert.
"Hurrah for our side!" cried Don. "We'll ship them all. Some may die
on the way, you know, and that man must have the number he advertised
for. Captain Morgan will stop and get the birds when he comes back.
He will see them shipped on the railroad at Cairo, and all we have to
do is to be sure that the game is at the landing in time."
"Did he say how much it would cost to send them off?" asked David.
"No. He will put in his bill when he comes down again. He carries
freight by the hundred, you know. He will pay the railroad charges,
too, and add that to his own bill."
"But what shall I do if both bills amount to more than ten dollars?"
asked David, with some anxiety.
Don did not seem to hear the question, for he paid no attention to
it. The truth was he had arranged matters so that David would not be
required to use any of his ten dollars. Silas Jones was to foot all
the bills and pay himself out of David's money when it was forwarded
to him by the agent at S----, the place where the quails were going.
But Don couldn't stop to explain this just now. He told his brother
and David to make haste and put the quails into the cabin; and when
that was done and they came into the shop, he set them at work on the
coops. There was much yet to be done, but they had ample time to do
it in, with more than a day to spare. When the next Wednesday night
arrived fifty-five dozen quails, boxed and marked ready for shipment,
were at the landing, waiting to begin the journey to their new home
in the North, and Don carried in his pocket a letter addressed to the
advertiser, which Captain Morgan was to mail at Cairo.
The boys camped at the landing that night to keep guard over their
property. They pitched a little tent on the bank, built a roaring
fire in front of it, and in company with Fred and Joe Packard, who
came down to stay with them, passed the hours very pleasantly. The
Emma Deane came up the next afternoon, and when the freight had been
carried aboard and she backed out into the stream again, David drew
a long breath, expressive of the deepest satisfaction. His task was
done, and he hoped in a few days more to reap the reward of his
labor.
The boys felt like resting now. They had worked long and faithfully,
and they were all relieved to know that their time was their own. Don
and Bert paid daily visits to their bear trap, hunted wild turkeys
and drove the ridges for deer, while David stayed at home and made
himself useful there, until he began to think it time to hear from
somebody, and then he took to hanging about the post-office as
persistently as ever his father had done. Finally, his anxiety was
relieved by the arrival of the first letter that had ever been
addressed to himself. He tore it open with eager hands, and read
that the quails had been received in good order, and that the money,
amounting to one hundred and ninety-two dollars and fifty cents, had
been paid over to the agent from whom they were received. David could
hardly believe it. The man had paid him for the extra five dozen
birds; he was to receive forty-two dollars more than he expected;
and there had been no freight charges deducted. David could not
understand that, and there was no one of whom he could ask an
explanation, for Don and Bert had gone over to Coldwater that
morning, and were not to be back for a week. He had a long talk with
his mother about it that night, and when he went to bed never closed
his eyes in slumber. Every succeeding day found him at the landing
waiting for his money, and so little did he know about business that
he could not imagine who was to give it to him.
At last the Emma Deane came down again. David stood around with the
rest and watched her while she was putting off her freight, and
having seen her back out into the stream, was about to start for
home, when Silas Jones came up and tapped him on the shoulder.
"Don't go away," said he. "I want to see you." David waited an hour
before Silas was ready to tell him what he wanted of him. By that
time the most of the hangers-on had dispersed; and when the last
customer finished his trading, Silas stepped behind his desk and
opened his safe.
"There it is," said he, slapping a package of greenbacks on the desk
and then holding it up to David's view. "How do you like the looks of
it?"
David's eyes opened to their widest extent. He had never seen so
large a package of money before. He looked hastily about the store to
see if Dan was anywhere in sight, and was greatly relieved to find
that he was not. There were three, or four men standing by, and they
appeared to be enjoying David's astonishment.
"Is--is it mine, Mr. Jones?" he managed to ask.
"Some of it is, and some of it is mine. There are a hundred and
ninety-two dollars and a half here, and twenty-eight of it belongs to
me. Freight bills, you know. The coops you put those birds in were as
heavy as lead. If you had put less timber in them your expenses would
not have been so heavy."
"Don thought it best to have them strong, so that they would not be
broken in handling," said David.
"That was all right. Now let me see," added Silas, consulting his
books; "fifty-five dozen live quails at three fifty per dozen--one
ninety-two, fifty; less twenty-eight, leaves one sixty-four, fifty.
Just step around here and sign this receipt."
David obeyed like one in a dream. He put his name to the receipt,
and, scarcely knowing what he was about, thrust the package of money
which Silas handed him into his pocket and walked out of the store.
"There goes the proudest boy in the United States," said the grocer.
Yes, David was proud, but he was grateful, too. He was indebted to
Don and Bert for his good fortune, and he was sorry that he could do
nothing but thank them when they came home. He went straight to the
cabin, and to his great surprise and joy found his mother there. She
was alone in the house, but David, profiting by his past experience,
made a thorough examination of the premises before he said a word to
her. Having thus made sure that Dan was not about, he pulled out his
package of greenbacks and laid it in his mother's lap.
There was joy in the cabin that day. If David had never before
realized that it is worth while to keep trying, no matter how hard
one's luck may be, he realized it now. We will leave him in the full
enjoyment of his success, promising to bring him to the notice of the
reader again at no distant day, in the concluding volume of this
series, which will be entitled THE MAIL CARRIER.
THE END.