GODFREY FINDS SOMETHING.
When Dan drove around the corner of the cabin, the slumbering Godfrey,
without changing his position, opened one of his eyes, but quickly
closed it again as Dan turned about in his wagon to look at him.
Presently he opened it again, and kept it open until Dan once more
turned to look at him; and the farther the wagon left the house behind,
the oftener the eye was opened, and the longer it remained open. When
the wagon and its driver had disappeared around a bend in the road,
Godfrey opened both eyes, straightened up, stretching his arms and
yawning as if he had just awakened out of a sound sleep, turned his
pipe about in his mouth, and with an expression of great satisfaction
on his face, arose and went around the corner of the house toward
the corn-crib. He walked straight to the shed that stood beside it,
and placing his hand on the same pin that Dan had removed but a few
minutes before, pulled it out and looked into the opening.
He was surprised at the size of it. By the aid of a gouge, or some
other sharp instrument, the inside of the hole had been cut away until
a cavity had been formed that would hold a quart or more; and in this
were two or three small packages, done up in brown paper. Godfrey
opened his knife and poked them out one by one. The first contained the
greenbacks of which he was in search. He counted them over carefully,
and was greatly disappointed and surprised to find that the whole
amount was only three dollars and twenty-five cents. But even that
sum was more than he could often call his own, and his fingers closed
tightly about it as if he feared that it might somehow slip away from
him and be lost. The other packages contained powder, lead and a box of
caps. These were all useful to Godfrey, who put them into the pocket
that had the smallest holes in it, and after replacing the pin and
driving it into the hole with a blow of his hand, walked away, well
satisfied with the discovery he had made.
Dan was not so smart as he thought he was. His father had known for
along time that he had a secret hiding place for all the various
little odds and ends that came into his hands, and when Dan went to
harness the mule, the suspicious glances he cast about and his stealthy
actions, made Godfrey believe that he had only to watch him to find
out where that hiding place was. There was a convenient opening in the
rear wall of the cabin, that had been formed by the “chinking” falling
out, and through this hole Godfrey watched all Dan’s movements. As long
as Dan remained at the corn-crib, Godfrey kept his eye at the opening;
but when the boy came toward the cabin, he left it, and passing quickly
across the floor and out at the door, seated himself on the bench and
took up the position he had occupied when Dan last saw him. When his
son, satisfied with his reconnoissance, went back to the corn-crib,
Godfrey again entered the cabin and stationing himself at the hole in
the rear wall, saw everything that was done. He was highly delighted
with the success of his little stratagem. The money was in his
possession now, and besides he had secured ammunition enough to last
him a month.
“The amazin’ ongrateful an’ ondutiful chap, to hide things from his
poor ole dad in sich a scandalous way as that ar,” said Godfrey, giving
his pocket a slap. “He wouldn’t lend it to me to take keer of it fur
him, an’ now I’ve got it anyhow. But how came he by it, is what I’d
like to know. Don’t stand to reason that Silas Jones give it to him,
kase he hain’t been a doin’ no work for Silas--no, I’ll warrant he
hain’t. Dan takes arter his pop, and is too much of a gentleman to do
anything like work when he can get outen it.”
How Dan came by the money in the first place was a matter that
interested and perplexed Godfrey not a little. He seated himself on the
bench again, and smoked up two or three pipes of store tobacco while
he was thinking about it. But he could come to no conclusion, although
he kept his mind busy until the creaking of the wagon wheels announced
that Dan was coming back. Then Godfrey had other matters to think of.
He expected a stormy scene with his son when the latter discovered that
his money had been removed from its hiding place, and he prepared for
it by going into the cabin and placing the rawhide where he could find
it at a moment’s warning. Then he pushed back his sleeves, seated his
remnant of a hat firmly on his head, and seated himself on the bench
again to await Dan’s approach.
“Yer mam hain’t come hum yet, Dannie,” said he, when the boy had
arrived within speaking distance. “She’s allers away when she’d
oughter be here tidyin’ up things, an’ makin’ the house look as though
white folks lived here; but we won’t wait fur her. Ye can cook as well
as any woman, Dannie, an’ we’ll have some of that fresh meat to onct.”
Dan made no reply in words. He put his hand into his pocket and looked
at his father; whereupon the latter arose and glanced into the wagon.
It was empty.
“Whar’s the meat?” he demanded, angrily.
“It’s done sold,” was the reply.
For a moment Godfrey acted as if he were about to go off into an awful
passion. He spread out his feet, clenched both his hands and began
shaking them in the air. Then he jumped up, knocked his heels together,
and having thus loosened his joints, was ready for action. Dan saw that
the storm was coming, and made all haste to put himself out of the way
of its fury, first by jumping out of the wagon on the opposite side, so
that he would have a fair chance to run if he found it necessary, and
second by trying to appease his father.
“Hain’t that the way to get rich, pop,--by takin’ money every chance ye
get?” said he. “I got it an’ I saved it, too. Look a yer,” he added,
pulling some bills out of his pocket, and extending them across the
wagon toward his father.
Godfrey was mollified at once. The sight of money always made him
good-natured, especially if he saw a prospect of handling it himself.
“How much ye got thar?” he asked, in a very different tone of voice.
“Three dollars an’ a half,” replied Dan. “Silas Jones done offered it
to me fur my beef, an’ when I axed him whar was the money, he counted
it right down. Mebbe I could lend ye another dollar, pop, if ye’ll
promise to pay it back.”
Godfrey had in some way collected his wandering wits by this time. He
reviewed the situation hastily while Dan was speaking, and greatly
to the surprise of the boy, who had never known him to refuse money
before, replied:
“No, Dannie, the money is yourn, an’ I wont take it from ye. I’ll have
plenty of my own in a week or two--jest as soon as we find that thar
bar’l. But, Dannie, I had got my mind all made up fur somethin’ nice,
an’ I can’t no ways do without some fresh meat of some kind fur supper;
so if ye’ll take yer rifle an’ go right out an’ shoot some squirrels,
I’ll say no more about yer sellin’ the meat. I’ll unhitch the critter,
too.”
Dan, glad to be let off so easily, and wondering greatly at this
unusual display of forbearance on the part of his father, readily
agreed to this proposal. But he didn’t quite like the look of things.
He had a suspicion that this was simply a ruse on the part of his
father, and that when he came out from behind the wagon and entered the
cabin to get his rifle, Godfrey would seize him and bring the rawhide
into play. Experience had taught him that his father’s word was not
always to be depended on, so he was very cautious in his movements. He
accompanied the wagon to the corn-crib, waited until his father began
to unharness the mule, and then darted into the cabin, secured his
rifle and ammunition, and quickly put a ten rail fence between him and
his sire. Then he began to breathe easier.
Being left to himself, Godfrey proceeded very leisurely to unharness
the mule and detach him from the wagon. Just as the work was about
to be completed, he heard the report of his son’s rifle away off
in the woods. The sound had a strange effect upon him. His actions
seemed to say that he had been waiting for it. Quickly dropping the
harness, which he was on the point of hanging in its accustomed
place, he seized the wooden pin that concealed the entrance to Dan’s
hiding-place, and pulled it out. Then he took the packages from his
pocket, one by one, and put them back in the opening just as he had
found them--the powder first, the lead next, then the caps, and lastly
the money; and when they were all in, he drove the pin back to its
place and hung the harness upon it. He seemed to feel relieved after it
was done. He drew a long breath, and started for the cabin to solace
himself with a pipe, as he always did after he had exerted himself in
any unusual degree.
In half an hour the sun began to sink behind the trees on the opposite
bank of the river, and then Godfrey’s scattered family began to come
in, one after the other. First came his wife, who had been over to see
a neighbor with whom she had been on visiting terms in better days.
On her arm she carried a basket covered with a snow-white napkin.
Godfrey’s eyes glistened at the sight of it. He had seen a good many
such baskets carried into his house of late, and he knew that every
time they came he and the rest of the family had something good to eat
for a day or two.
“Now, Godfrey, if you will chop some wood and start a fire, I’ll get
some supper,” said his wife, cheerfully.
The man took his pipe out of his mouth and groaned. Chopping wood was
his pet aversion.
“Didn’t used to be so in the good ole days, did it, Susie?” said he,
with a long-drawn sigh. “I used to have plenty of niggers to do that ar
mean work. Choppin’ wood ain’t gentleman’s work, Susie--no it ain’t!”
“But somebody must do it, Godfrey,” said Mrs. Evans.
“So they must; but I can’t seem to stoop to it, somehow. Here comes
Dave. Make him do it.”
“David is tired out, most likely. He’s been tramping through the fields
all the afternoon.”
“An’ hain’t I tired out too, I’d like to know?” exclaimed Godfrey.
“Here I’ve been an’ hoofed it down to the landin’ an’ worked like
a good fellow at that shootin’ match. Whew! It jest makes me ache
all over to think of all I’ve been an’ done since dinner. ’Sides,
Dave’s got no sort o’ right to go a trampin’ ’round the fields all
the arternoon. He’d oughter be to hum straightenin’ up things. But it
won’t be so long--not longer nor next week, nohow--kase that thar bar’l
will----”
“Now, Godfrey!” interrupted Mrs. Evans.
“Now, ole woman!” retorted Godfrey.
“I knew you didn’t mean what you said to-day at the dinner table,” said
his wife, “and I wish you wouldn’t talk so before the boys.”
“About that thar bar’l, with the eighty thousand dollars into it? I did
mean it, an’ I tell ye I will talk so, too!”
“Then it is high time somebody was taking charge of your children.
David may be able to resist such temptations, but I don’t want to have
him put to the test. You will certainly have a bad influence over Dan,
for you will make him dishonest.”
The mere mention of that word seemed to irritate Godfrey. He jumped up
from the bench, spread out his feet, and taking his pipe from his mouth
with one hand, extended the other toward his wife.
“Now, ole woman, jest look at ye!” he began; and then he bounded into
the air, knocked his heels together, and came down on his feet again
with a jar that must have shaken him all over. “An’ now jest look at
me!”
“I was talking with Mrs. Gordon about it not more than an hour ago,”
said Mrs. Evans, not at all alarmed by her husband’s words or actions.
“She says the general wants to do something for David, and will use
his influence to put him where he can make a man of himself. He has
aspirations, and I believe will be of some use in the world if he ever
has the chance.”
Godfrey put his pipe back into his mouth and sat down again.
“What did you say them things is that Dave’s got?” he asked.
“Aspirations,” replied Mrs. Evans.
“What’s them, an’ whar did he get ’em?” inquired Godfrey, who thought
they might be something of value which David carried in his pockets,
and which might be stolen after the boy had gone to bed.
“I mean that he doesn’t want to live in this way all his life. He wants
to do and be something better.”
“Oh!” said Godfrey, somewhat disappointed. “Wal, I can take keer of
him, an’ without no help from the gen’ral, who can jest watch his own
boys an’ let mine be. That bar’l will fix things all right!”
Mrs. Evans, seeing that nothing was to be gained by talking to her
husband, passed on into the cabin; and just then David came up. He
carried his old single-barrel shot gun over his shoulder, a bunch of
quails in his hand, and Don Gordon’s pointer followed close at his
heels, his appearance indicating that he had been doing some work since
he left the cabin.
“Wal, sonny,” said Godfrey, “how does the pup understand his business?”
“O, it will be no trouble at all to break him,” answered David. “He
understands some things as well as an old dog already.”
“I’m glad to hear ye say so, an’ I’m glad to see ye’ve done so well,”
said Godfrey, glancing at the bunch of quails. “Ye’re getting to be a
right smart hunter. Ye can make a good livin’ at it some day, if ye
want to.”
“But I don’t want to,” said David quickly. “I can make a better living
at something else, and take care of my mother, too.”
“That’s right, sonny. Allers think of yer mam, what’s done so much fur
ye; an’ of yer pop, too. He’s worked monstrous hard to edicate ye an’
keep a roof over yer head, yer pop has, an’ ye’d oughter to begin to
pay him back purty soon. Now, put away yer gun an’ go an’ chop some
wood fur yer mam to cook supper by. She’s tired, an’ so be I. We’ve
worked powerful hard this arternoon, we have, while ye’ve been trampin’
about enjoyin’ yerself.”
Godfrey settled back on the bench and gave his undivided attention to
his pipe for a few seconds and then suddenly arose and entered the
cabin. He had counted the moments of Dan’s absence pretty closely and
knew about what time to look for his return. He knew, too, what the boy
would do first when he came back, and wanted to be where he could watch
all his movements. He applied his eye to the hole in the wall where
the chinking had fallen out, and was just in time to see Dan climb the
fence that separated the woods from the little clearing in which the
cabin stood, and make his way towards the corn-crib. When he reached
it he paused long enough to make sure that there was no one in sight,
and then quickly took the harness down from its place, and pulled out
the pin. A hasty glance at the interior of his hiding place, satisfied
him that everything was just as he had left it; and this being settled
he pulled something out of his pocket, pushed it into the opening,
replaced the pin, and hung up the harness, just as David, with an axe
on his shoulder, came whistling around the corner of the cabin.
Having seen all he wanted to see, Godfrey quickly crossed the cabin
and seating himself on the bench pulled vigorously at his pipe.
“Fur downright Yankee ’cuteness an’ smartness I jist think I lay over
’most anybody,” thought he, giving his knee an approving slap. “I’m
jist three dollars an’ a half ahead of what I would have been, if I
had kept that money when I had it. When Dan told me that he’d done
sold that beef, I knowed what he’d do with the money, an’ that’s why I
sent him into the woods arter them squirrels. It give me time to fix
things in that hole jist as I found ’em, an’ now Dan’s done gone an’
put that three an’ a half in there too, which makes me a’most seven
dollars ahead of the hounds, if I counted it up on my fingers right,
an’ I reckon I did. I hain’t agoin’ to hunt fur that bar’l to-night,
kase when Dan goes to sleep I want to slip out thar an’ get that money,
afore he has a chance to take it out an’ put it sowewhar else!”
At this moment Dan came around the corner of the cabin, with a string
of squirrels thrown over his shoulder. There were eight of them
altogether and he held them up so that his father could see that every
one of them was shot through the head. Godfrey complimented him on his
skill, and when the boy passed into the cabin became suddenly silent
and thoughtful. A question had just occurred to him. What if Dan had
spent some of the money at the landing before he came home? He could
not breathe freely until he found out.
“Dannie,” said he, as the boy, having put away his rifle, came out
again and seated himself on a log near the cabin preparatory to
skinning the squirrels he had shot, “ye told me ye’d got----how much
fur that quarter of beef?”
“Three an’ a half, pop,” was the reply, and Dan began to look wild, and
arose rather hastily from the log. There was something in the tone in
which this question was propounded that made him fear that the storm he
had quelled a short time before, was gathering again; but his father’s
next words reassured him.
“Yer a good son, Dannie,” said Godfrey. “An’ that’s the way to get
rich, that ar way is. Take money when ye can get it, an’ _keep_ it,
too; mind that, Dannie. Don’t go to throwin’ it about loose an’
reckless, but hold fast to it with sich a grip that nothin’ can’t make
ye let up. Ye didn’t spend none of it at the landin’, I hope?”
“No, I didn’t. Didn’t I tell ye that I brung every cent of it hum?”
“That’s a good boy,” said Godfrey; and having set his fears at rest,
he became silent again and puffed at his pipe until he was called to
supper. When the meal was over, he went back to his pipe again; Dan
made a pretence of chopping wood; while David assisted his mother in
her household duties. It began to grow dark at last, and then Dan threw
down his axe and seated himself beside his father who was nodding on
the bench.
“Say, pop, be we goin’ to look fur that bar’l to-night?” he asked.
“No, Dannie, we hain’t,” was the sleepy reply. “I can’t. Here I’ve been
an’ hoofed it down to the landin’ an’ back since dinner, an’ I’m jest
teetotally tuckered out. Wait till to-morrow an’ then we’ll go!”
Dan was surprised at this answer. He was tired himself, but the
prospect of digging up eighty thousand dollars in gold and silver,
would have put life and energy into him if he had been completely
exhausted. He attributed his father’s refusal to his inherent laziness;
but something he discovered the next morning showed him that he was
wrong there.
The evening was passed in much the same manner that every evening
was passed under Godfrey’s roof. There were no candles to light the
hovel, and even if there had been there were no books or papers to
read, no games or anything else to engage in to make the time pass
pleasantly. In one corner of the cabin beside the fire-place was a
pile of resinous knots which David had picked up in the woods. One of
these was occasionally placed on the coals, and while it blazed up and
threw a feeble light about the room, David and his mother talked of the
past and speculated concerning the future. This was the way David’s
education had always been conducted. The remembrance of these evening
interviews with his mother went through life with him, and the moral
lessons that were then inculcated stood him in good hand in after years.
Dan and his father had their own peculiar ways of putting in the time
that elapsed between the cleaning away of the supper dishes and the
hour for retiring. Dan always stretched himself out on the floor and
went to sleep, while his father nodded on the bench outside the door.
On this particular evening Godfrey did not seem to slumber very heavily
for every now and then he would straighten up and look steadily toward
the corner in which Dan lay. He appeared to be waiting for something.
It came at last in the shape of a gentle snore, and then Godfrey arose
and stole away in the darkness. A few minutes later he came back, and
taking possession of the miserable “shake down” he called a bed, was
soon sound asleep.