THE GOLDEN FEATHER
"This was a pretty fair catch, for a change," thought Ralph Kenyon,
as he tied the limp animal to his pack-saddle, and reset the trap,
hoping next time to catch the dead mink's larger mate. He ran a
quick, appraising eye over the load slung across Keno's broad back.
"Pretty good, eh, old boy?" he added aloud, stroking the velvety
nose of his dumb companion on many a solitary hunt. "Now, Keno, you
hang around, and browse on these young cottonwoods, while I do some
figuring. I want to see what I'm likely to get for this next
shipment of pelts."
The old horse, nothing loath, obeyed his young master's behest as
promptly as though he had fully understood the words. Meanwhile,
Ralph found a mossy spot on the shady side of a big gray,
lichen-covered boulder, and, seating himself thereon, with his back
comfortably adjusted to a depression in the rock, he drew a worn
account book from a pocket of his corduroy coat. Moistening his
thumb he began to turn the pages rapidly, until he came to the place
where he had made the last entry in his accounts. With a stubby
pencil, which he had taken from another pocket, he jotted down the
new items:
"So far, one mink, six coon, three skunk, a gray fox, and seventeen
rabbit skins. All told it ought to bring---let me see." He relapsed
into silence, as he estimated the total, and then he sighed deeply.
"Not very much," was his inward comment; "not anywhere near enough!"
Ralph felt that it was high time that he brought to a close his
season's operations with trap and gun. The spring was unusually
early this year, and the fallow truck patches were fairly clamoring
for his attention. Yet he was reluctant to abandon his winter
pursuit of pelts and to return to the sterner and less thrilling
labor of ploughing and planting and peddling vegetables.
Not that he was averse to hard work---far from it! Ralph Kenyon
was as industrious, energetic, and sensible a young fellow as
one would wish to know; yet, being a very average, normal lad, and
at that age when love of freedom and adventure is foremost, he
naturally preferred the varied life of a huntsman and trapper---even
though his field of activity was not extensive---to the moiling
occupation of a market gardener.
On the other hand, there were times when he thoroughly enjoyed the
labor of wresting a livelihood from the soil, and he took pride in
raising the choicest products that could be offered for sale. Such
spells were most frequent in midsummer, when all nature was in a
placid mood for growth; but in autumn and spring came livelier hopes
and a stronger call to this lad, and in his own way he set about
accomplishing the chief aim of his life, the great end to which
these winter pursuits were but a means.
After the death of his father, which had occurred less than a month
after his graduation from High School, Ralph had taken the
responsibility of the small farm upon his eighteen-year-old shoulders,
bravely putting aside his cherished plans for a course in the School
of Mines until he could save the necessary funds from his individual
earnings. That was a year ago. In the interval he had found an
opportunity to study the principles of surveying, and for two weeks
he had acted as guide to a party of university students doing
research work in his native hills. For this service he had been
paid twenty-five dollars---which had been promptly banked as a
nucleus of his college fund.
How simple and easy it had seemed, earning his way through the
School of Mines, while talking with those enthusiastic young collegians
and their professor! How well he remembered the things they had said,
the advice they had given him! Yet now, after eight months of hard
work, constant hunting in the woods, and rigid economy, he seemed
no nearer the goal than he had been when the portals of High School
closed behind him forever. In fact, just as he was now placed in
his prospects he faced a bitter discouragement; he was on the
threshold of a new calamity.
His mother, who took in fine sewing, had developed a serious eye
trouble that threatened to put an end to her earning power, and to
leave her totally blind unless she submitted to a very delicate
operation within a few weeks. Of course, his mother's welfare
was stronger than any other consideration with Ralph, but he had
a vague idea that operations cost a great deal of money. At least,
he had been told so by his nearest neighbor, Tom Walsh, a farmer
who lived several miles from the town of Oakvale, which was the
station from whence he would have to take his mother by train to
New York. A day's journey, a week or more in the hospital, and
incidental expenses---even with the aid of his precious hoard and
the inadequate sum these furs would bring him---how could he ever
raise enough to help her, in time?
With another deep sigh, he replaced the worn account book, and
rested his head against the mossy hollow in the stone, gazing
disconsolately up through the branches of the trees at the jagged
cliffs that towered high above the mountain trail for a while,
nothing was heard in ravine or glade save the brawling of the
crystal-clear brook that went dashing and tumbling over the stones
of its rough bed, in a mad race to its fall of twenty feet or
more, or the crunching of succulent twigs and leaves of cottonwood,
or the snapping of dead wood, as old Keno moved leisurely about
from one spot to another. Side by side, on a jutting crag that
leaned far out over the brook, sat a splendid pair of golden eagles,
joyously preening their plumage in the spring sunshine. The birds
aroused no special interest in Ralph's mind, however, on this
particular morning; he had seen them many times before, while
rambling over the mountains with his father. But the sight of
their glittering napes awakened memories of that loved and admired
man.
"Dad used to say---and I guess he believed it, too---that iron in
paying quantities lies just beneath the stones of our little farm,"
mused Ralph. "We might become rich, mother and I, if we could only
get money enough to open up our mine."
One of the eagles, rare birds in that part of the Country, evidently
alarmed or annoyed at the approach of some intruder on their domain,
some animal or human being Unseen by Ralph, thrust out its head,
opened its beak, and uttered a harsh shrill cry; at which its mate
walked forward to the very edge of the crag, poised there for an
instant, and then, spreading wide wings, launched itself into the
air and sailed swiftly out of sight. It returned, however, in a
few minutes and rejoined its mate on the ledge of rock.
"Old King Eagle," called Ralph, whimsically, knowing well that
his voice would not carry above the roar of the brook, "I wish
you'd tell me where you get all your gold! I believe I'd go digging
with my finger-nails this morning if I only knew where to begin!"
As if in answer to his appeal, one golden feather drifted down and
lay glittering iridescently among the pebbles at his feet.
The lad sprang up with a laugh; then, going down on his knees, he
began to dig at the exact spot on which the feather fell.
Imagination had carried him for the moment to a point of almost
superstitious energy. But the spell passed quickly. With a scornful
laugh, he straightened his lanky form to its full height.
"Gee!" he exclaimed aloud. "I never supposed I could be such a fool!"
A low laugh sounded behind him, startlingly near, and, turning to
glance over his shoulder, he beheld a tall, lean, swarthy young man
dressed in a faded and soiled brown suit, with a soft felt hat pulled
down over his eyes, and leggings like those often worn by woodsmen.
"Seven kinds of a young fool, eh?" remarked the stranger, shifting
a long-handled axe and a heavy wooden mallet which he carried from
his shoulder to the ground. "Well, you ain't no fool, boy, an' I
know it, an' that's why I follered you up this trail. I want ter
have a little confab with you to-day. Know who I am?"
"No, I don't know you," Ralph replied truthfully, "and I can't guess
how you knew I was up here in the hills."
"Your ma told me. I stopped at your shack, about two hours ago,
an' she told me you was out lookin' after your traps. Any luck?"
"Not much." Ralph did not wish the man to observe either the
location of the traps or the valuable mink that dangled from Keno's
saddle. "What did you want to see me for?" he queried, after a
minute's pause, during which he eyed the woodsman quizzically.
"You're Ralph Kenyon, ain't you?" asked the other, evidently in
some doubt.
"Yes. Who are you?"
There was a, blunt directness in Ralph's questions that seemed to
disconcert the man who had expected to meet a rather shy, immature
lad---certainly not one who bore himself with an air of calm
self-possession and who wasted no words. He gave another low laugh
that ended in a chuckle, and replied briefly:
"My name's Bill---Bill Terrill---perhaps you've heard tell o' me?
I'm Old Man Walsh's nevvy, your friend Tom's Cousin."
"I've heard of you," said Ralph, drily.
"Who told you, then?"
"Jack Durham---another cousin of yours."
"Oh! You don't mean the kid that joined that 'ere Boy Scout crowd
over at Pi'neer Camp last summer, after---after------"
"After you attacked the old man and him in the woods, one day. Yes,
he's the one. He told me."
"You an' him pals?"
"Not exactly; he's much younger than I."
"How old are you?"
"Nineteen next month."
"Old enough ter know better, eh?"
"What do you mean?"
"Better than ter go diggin' fer---well, gold, in these 'ere parts."
A blush overspread Ralph's freckled face, but it faded as quickly as
it had come, and he continued to stare at Bill Terrill.
"I wasn't digging for gold," he said quietly.
"Of course not! I was only joshing you, boy! Say, what I wanted ter
see you about is this: there's some dispute between the
what-d'-you-call-uns?---executors?---of your dad's will and Old Man
Perkins, who owns the farm next ter yours, about the boundary lines.
Old Man Perkins, he claims-----"
"He has no claim whatever!" interrupted Ralph, vehemently. "That old
dispute was almost settled before my father's death. Dad had our
farm surveyed, charted, and the boundaries marked. I can show you
the stone on the northwest corner; it's only a few yards away, over
there."
"Well, Perkins is havin' _his_ acres surveyed now," said Terrill,
"an' I'm one of the crew that's doing the job fer him. I'm axeman.
You see, I've reformed consid'r'ble since-----since last summer, and
I j'ined a surveyin' crew; axeman now, rodman later, if I'm good,
an'-------"
"But why did you want to see me? Was it about this boundary question?"
"Oh, you admit there is some question about it, after all?"
"Are you trying to pump me, Terrill?" asked Ralph, shrewdly suspicious.
"If you are, you won't get any satisfaction until I've seen our
lawyer. It seems to me you're playing detective instead of surveyor,
and you don't do it very well! You had better stick to your job,
and the axe!"
Terrill grinned.
"If it turns out that your pa made some mistake or was---er---too
cock-sure about the lay o' this land, what d'you think Old Man Perkins
would do about it?" he inquired meaningly.
"Prove his claim, and take part of our present farm away from us, of
course," Ralph retorted. "But there is no mistake. The land is ours."
"And if it is, would you be willing to sell----"
"Not a square foot of it---to Perkins."
So saying, Ralph picked up his cap, and carefully brushed off the clay
and leaves. As he did so, the shining feather caught his downcast
eyes once more, and this time he stooped, picked it up, and
deliberately stuck it under the band of the inside of his cap. Then
he secured the faithful Keno, and, without another word to Bill
Terrill, who had moved away whistling defiantly, he tramped homeward,
in a rather gloomy mood.