DAN MAKES A DISCOVERY.
The next morning, long before the sun showed himself above the
tree-tops, the Evans family were all astir. They always rose at an
early hour, and it was probably more from the force of habit than for
any other reason, for, with the exception of Mrs. Evans, none of them
did any work until after they had eaten breakfast. Even the chores were
left until the male members of the family had broken their fast, for
Godfrey declared that it was not healthy, in that climate, to breathe
too much of the early morning air, it was so laden with miasma and
the seeds of fever and ague; but he did not seem to think it at all
injurious if inhaled through the fumes of tobacco smoke, and while
seated on the bench beside the cabin door. That bench served Godfrey in
lieu of an easy-chair. When he was not hunting in the woods or loafing
at the landing, he was always to be found there, smoking and thinking.
On the morning of this particular day, Godfrey arose from his “shake
down” with the air of a lord, and astonished two members of his family
and alarmed another, by giving them all a hearty greeting. When he had
dressed himself he filled his pipe, and walking out of the door with
a slow and dignified step, stood with his hands on his hips, looking
about him as if he were monarch of all he surveyed. Mrs. Evans said
to herself that that was the way he used to act in the good old days;
while Dan communed thus with himself:
“If me an’ pop had been out a diggin’ fur that thar bar’l last night,
an’ had done found it, I should know that that was what ails him this
mornin’; but seein’ we didn’t dig fur the bar’l, I don’t know what’s
the matter of him. He don’t walk with that big leg, an’ sling on all
them extry frills, fur nothin’, an’ I’m afeared he’s smelled out
somethin’. If he has----”
Dan did not say what he should do, but he shook his head in the most
threatening manner, and having drawn on his clothes, clapped his hat
on his head, and hurried out of the door. His father looked at him as
he disappeared around the corner of the cabin, but made no sign beyond
looking in at the door to satisfy himself that the rawhide was hanging
in its accustomed place.
In a few minutes Dan returned and confronted his sire. His face wore a
fierce frown, and he looked mad enough for almost anything. He began
operations by jumping up and knocking his heels together, coming down
with a jar and with his feet spread out as if he were bracing himself
for a shock of some kind. This is an indispensable prelude to all games
of fisticuffs in the South and West. No backwoods pugilist ever thinks
of going into a fight without thus preparing himself for it. Sometimes
a few Indian yells, given with all the power of the lungs, help matters
wonderfully. Dan went through the performance just to show his father
how angry he was, and to give him some idea of the damage he would do
if he only possessed the power. Godfrey looked pleasantly at him, and
seated himself on the bench.
“Give me them six dollars an’ six bits, dog-gone my buttons,” sputtered
Dan, who could hardly speak plainly enough to be understood. Then he
seemed to regain control of his tongue, and without giving his father
a chance to reply, went on: “I knowed yesterday that ye was up to
something,” said he, “an’ I knowed this mornin’ when I first seed ye a
struttin’ about, that ye’d been an’ done some mean trick. You’ve been a
pokin’ into my things. You’ve got my money an’ my powder an’ lead, an’
I want ’em. The money’s mine, an’ I----”
“It’s your’n, is it?” exclaimed Godfrey. “Whar did ye get it, an’ how
come ye by it?”
“Didn’t I tell ye I got three an’ a half fur that hind quarter of beef?”
“Yes, but whar did ye get the rest?”
“Didn’t ye tell me it didn’t make no odds to ye whar I got it so long
as I did get it?” asked Dan.
“That was yesterday,” answered Godfrey. “It didn’t make no odds to me
yesterday, but it’s to-morrer now, an’ it makes a heap of odds. It’s
my bounden duty to find out whar ye got it an’ how ye came by it, kase
mebbe it wasn’t honest.”
“Whoop!” yelled Dan, jumping up and knocking his heels together in the
excess of his rage. “Honest! It’s a heap honester nor it is to go arter
dark into a man’s tater-patch an’ dig up the bar’l o’ money he’s got
kivered up thar. Now, ole man, I’ll tell ye what’s the gospel truth
about that thar bar’l,” added Dan, a bright idea striking him. “If
ye’ll give my money back to me, I won’t say nothing about it; but if ye
don’t, I’ll go straight to the gen’ral----”
“Whoop!” shouted Godfrey, in his turn.
As the word left his lips he jumped up from the bench and made a
furious rush toward his son, but did not succeed in laying hands upon
him. The place where Dan was standing became suddenly vacant, and a
moment afterward a very scared face looked at Godfrey between the rails
of the fence that surrounded the cabin.
“Yes, I will,” repeated Dan, who felt comparatively safe now. “I’ll go
straight to the gen’ral an’ tell him what ye’re up to, an’ then what’ll
become of yer bar’l with the eighty thousand into it?”
“An’ what’ll become of yer shiny hats an’ boots, an’ yer circus hosses,
an’ yer guns that break in two in the middle?” retorted Godfrey, as
soon as his rage would allow him to speak.
“I don’t care,” replied Dan, “I want my six dollars and six bits fust;
an’ if I don’t get ’em, I’ll knock all yer ’rangements higher nor the
moon. I will, I don’t care if I don’t sleep in the house fur a month
arter it.”
“Ye’ll never sleep in my house again if ye do that,” said Godfrey.
“But, Dannie, thar ain’t no use in me an’ you fightin’ over these few
greenbacks, when thar’s eighty thousand dollars in gold and silver to
be had fur the diggin’.”
“I don’t want to fight nuther, but I want my money,” said Dan.
“Now, Dannie, be a good boy an’ let yer poor ole pop take keer on it
fur ye.”
“No, I won’t.”
“Kase I’m the oldest an’ know the most, ye know, an’ it’s the properest
thing to do.”
But Dan only shook his head decidedly, and retreated as his father
approached the fence. Godfrey continued to argue the matter, but he
could make no impression upon Dan, whose only reply was, “Give me my
money;” and his father was finally forced to the conclusion that he
must either do it, or have all his hopes of possessing that bar’l of
gold blasted. He was well enough acquainted with Dan to know that he
never made idle threats, and he saw that he must compromise in some
way, and that too, if possible, without any loss to his dignity.
“Now, Dannie,” said he, “I hope ye see that yer pop is a heap smarter
nor ye be, don’t yer?”
“Give me them six dollars an’ six bits,” replied Dan.
“No, ye can’t have ’em--bar’l or no bar’l, that’s flat--till ye tell me
whar ye got ’em. I’m yer pop, an’ it’s my bounden duty to know how ye
come by ’em.”
Dan hesitated. If he complied with his father’s demand, he might
whistle for the other five dollars which Don Gordon still owed
David--or, rather, which he _would_ owe him as soon as the pointer was
field-broken. If he refused to comply, he would lose six dollars and
seventy-five cents, and that was a small fortune to him. No matter what
he decided to do, he had a fine prospect of losing money, unless--
“Yes, pop,” he replied suddenly, trying hard to conceal the excitement
occasioned by a lucky thought that just then occurred to him, “I know
yer a heap smarter nor I be, an’ I’ll be a good son to ye, an’ never
try to fool ye no more.”
“That’s a good boy, Dannie,” said his father, thrusting his hand
through the fence in the hope that Dan would lay his own within it.
“Put it thar, my lad.”
Dan came a step nearer to the fence, but his actions indicated that he
had no desire to shake hands with his father. On the contrary, he kept
safely out of his reach.
“No, I’ll never fool ye no more,” said he, “honor bright. An’ will ye
promise, honor bright, to give me the money, all of it, when I tell ye
whar I got it?”
“In course I will.”
“Say honor bright.”
His father said it, placing his hand in his pocket at the same time to
show that he was ready to keep his word, and Dan continued:
“Silas Jones give it to me. I made five dollars outen him choppin’
wood.”
“That’s the way to get rich, my boy,” said Godfrey. “Allers do sich
little chores when ye can get ’em to do, an’ hold fast to the money,
an’ some day ye’ll be wuth yer thousands.”
“Now hand it out here,” said Dan.
“Yes, I’ll hand it out, but not now. I must fust ax Silas about it.
I’ll have business down to the landin’ some time to-day, I reckon, an’
arter I ax Silas, I’ll give ye the money.”
“He owes me ten dollars more,” cried Dan, greatly alarmed, and hoping
that his father would catch at the bait thus thrown out.
“I’m glad to hear it,” was the reply. “Yer rich already, Dannie, and
won’t need none of the bar’l when we find it. But if he give ye five
dollars an’ owes ye ten more, ye must a made--” here Godfrey stopped
and counted his fingers--“ye must a made fifteen outen him choppin’
wood. Didn’t ye promise ye wouldn’t never try to fool me no more?”
“Wal, come nigher to the fence,” said Dan, growing desperate and
sinking his voice almost to a whisper, so that those in the cabin might
not hear his words, “an’ I’ll tell ye this time, honor bright. Ye know
the ten dollars Dave was goin’ to get fur breakin’ that pinter pup,
don’t ye? Wal, I jest slipped up thar an’ axed Mr. Bert would he lend
Dave five of it now to get mam a new dress with, an’ he said yes, he
would. That’s whar the money came from, pop, sure’s you live.”
Godfrey was satisfied of it; and while he secretly admired the boy’s
shrewdness, he reproached himself for not being smart enough to take
advantage of the opening, and thus securing the ten dollars for his own
use. Without a word more he pulled out Dan’s money and gave it to him,
then walked back to the bench, picked up his pipe, and went off into a
brown study. He never came out of it until he was called to breakfast,
and even then he hardly aroused himself sufficiently to know what was
going on around him. Having satisfied his appetite, he took down his
rifle and left the cabin. As soon as he was out of sight, Dan arose,
put on his hunting equipments and also disappeared, leaving David and
his mother to themselves.
Godfrey made his way toward General Gordon’s house, and on the way
stopped at the barn, where the hostler was at work hitching the grays
to the family carriage. By a little skilful questioning he learned
that the general and his boys were going down to the landing to meet
some visitors, who were coming from Cincinnati on the Emma Deane; and
this piece of information caused a slight change in the programme he
had laid out before leaving home. He had come over there on purpose to
see Don Gordon, and secure the balance of the money he had promised
David for breaking the pointer. But he wanted to see him privately,
and believing that his object could be better attained by waiting a
while, he decided to postpone the interview until the Gordons reached
the landing. The sooner he obtained possession of the money the better,
Godfrey told himself, as he looked out of one of the stable windows.
There was Dan coming up the road, and his father knew instinctively
what it was that brought him in that direction so early in the
morning. Dan, however, did not go near the barn, for he had seen his
father stop there. He kept on toward the landing, and when he was out
of sight, Godfrey shouldered his rifle and followed him.
We have already seen how Godfrey operated when he thought the proper
time had arrived. Watching his opportunity he secured an interview
with Don Gordon before Dan did, and had no trouble at all in inducing
him to hand over five dollars of David’s money to him. Godfrey was in
ecstacies. He shut his fingers tight about the bill and hurried away
as if he feared that Don might repent and want the money back after
he had time to think about what he had done. Before he had made half
a dozen steps he was confronted by his son Dan, whose face wore an
expression that Godfrey did not like to see there. He knew as well what
was passing in the boy’s mind as he did five minutes afterward when Dan
told him of a determination he had formed.
“Why, hallo, Dannie!” exclaimed Godfrey, as if the meeting was most
unexpected. “What brung ye down here so ’arly? I’ve got that other five
dollars fur ye.”
“O, ye have, have ye?” said Dan.
“Yes. Ye see, I thought mebbe ye wouldn’t like to ax fur this one,
seein’ as how ye axed fur the fust, so I done tuk the trouble to do it
myself. Now, Dannie, I’ll borrer half of it from ye, an’ pay ye back
when we find that bar’l--to-night mebbe!”
Dan drew a long breath of relief. This was a piece of generosity he
had not looked for, and he hastened to assure his father that he was
entirely satisfied with the proposition, adding:
“Do ye know what I’d a done if ye’d cheated me outen them five dollars?
Wal, I’d a went straight to the gen’ral an’ told him about that thar
bar’l--yes, I would!”
This was just what Godfrey was afraid of, and the only thing that led
him to divide his ill-gotten gains with Dan. There was a dangerous
light in his eyes, but controlling himself he answered, very
good-naturedly:
“Wal, ye see I didn’t mean to cheat ye, don’t ye? Now go an’ git the
bill broke over to Silas Jones’. I’d go myself, but if I do, he’ll want
me to pay what I owe him, an’ I ain’t ready to do that yet. He can wait
till we find that bar’l.”
Dan took the bill and went away, revolving in his mind a dozen wild
schemes for securing undisputed possession of the whole of it. Godfrey
watched him until he disappeared in the store, and then leaned on his
rifle and went off into another brown study.
“The ongrateful an’ ondutiful scamp!” thought he. “He’s got the upper
hand agin me, that boy has, an’ I’ve got to give him half them five
dollars, or have my plans busted. I wish now I hadn’t told him about
that bar’l. I’d go an’ dig fur it myself o’nights, only its kinder
lonesome bein’ all by myself in the dark. Folks do say that all sort of
critters an’ strange things is abroad arter night, an’ as I’ve seed ’em
an’ felt ’em myself, I’m jest a trifle----”
Godfrey finished the sentence by shrugging his shoulders. He would not
have acknowledged, even to himself, that he was afraid, but that was
the plain English of it. He would hardly go to the wood-pile alone
after dark. It was true that he had seen some strange things which
he could not account for, and which frightened him almost out of his
wits. He had seen figures flitting along the road in front of him when
he returned home from the landing after dark, and on two or three
occasions, something with great eyes of fire had glared at him from a
fence corner behind the general’s barn, and compelled him to leave the
road and go around through the fields to reach his house. On other
occasions he had been suddenly and mysteriously tripped up when there
was not a human being within sight of him, and his hat had been dashed
from his head by invisible hands.
All these things, however, could have been satisfactorily explained,
if Godfrey had only possessed the courage to inquire into them. If he
had caught one of the figures which ran along the road before him and
disappeared in so bewildering a fashion, he would have found that it
was not a spirit, but a human being--a night prowler who had designs
upon the general’s smoke-house. If he had walked up to the eyes of
fire that glared so savagely at him, he would have discovered that
they were simply holes in a pumpkin, which had been scooped out to
admit a lighted candle, and he would have seen Don Gordon lying on the
ground at a little distance convulsed with laughter. The invisible
hands which knocked off his hat and pulled his feet out from under him
so unexpectedly, would, upon investigation, have proved to be strong
cords stretched from one side of the lane to the other, managed by the
same spirit of mischief who had placed the lighted candle in the hollow
pumpkin, and who had put them there for the purpose of entertaining
himself at the expense of a crowd of darkies, who were expected to pass
along the lane on their way home from protracted meeting.
All these things happened during the previous autumn, but Godfrey
had not forgotten them. Don had then just returned from school; and
the life he led on his father’s plantation was so monotonous, that
he sometimes thought he could not exist much longer unless something
happened to cheer him up a little. As nothing happened of its own
accord, Don went to work to create opportunities to let off some of
his surplus energy in a good hearty laugh; and to further this end, he
made use of some of the numerous schoolboy devices he learned while at
the academy. You will know how well he succeeded when we tell you that
in less than a week after he began operations, the story got abroad
that the general’s lane was haunted, and there was not a negro in the
neighborhood who could be hired to pass through there after dark.
Godfrey Evans himself would not do it. He always took to the fields.
We do not say that Don passed his leisure hours in the most profitable
manner, for we know he did not. We are only telling the story of his
life, and telling it as it happened not so very long ago. That Don
himself knew that he might be better employed, was proved by the fact
that he did all this alone, not even taking Bert into his confidence.
He little thought then that his love of mischief would one day be the
means of getting him into a scrape the like of which he had never
dreamed of, but such was the fact; and we must hasten on to tell how it
was brought about.