His scheme was thwarted. The boy had come and gone in his absence,
all unaware of his proximity and the impending punishment so
narrowly escaped.
But when Andy Byers reached the tanyard and went to work, he said
nothing to Birt. He did not even allude to the counterfeit
apparition in the woods, although Mrs. Price's probable recovery was
more than once under discussion among the men who came and went,--
indeed, she lived many years thereafter, to defend her lucky
grandchildren against every device of discipline. Byers had given
heed to more crafty counsels. On the whole he was now glad that he
had not had the opportunity to make Birt and the hickory sprout
acquainted with each other. This would be an acknowledgment that he
had been terrified by the manufactured ghost, and he preferred
foregoing open revenge to encountering the jocose tanner's ridicule,
and the gibes that would circulate at his expense throughout the
country-side. But he cherished the grievance, and he resolved that
Birt should rue it. He had expected that Birt would boast of having
frightened him. He intended to admit that he had been a trifle
startled, and in treating the matter thus lightly he hoped it would
seem that the apparition was a failure.
However, day by day passed and nothing was said. The ghost vanished
as mysteriously as it had come. Only Mrs. Dicey, taking her bonnet
and apron and shawl from the chest, was amazed at the extraordinary
manner in which they were folded and at their limp condition, and
when she found a bunch of cockle-burs in the worsted fringes of the
shawl she declared that witches must have had it, for she had not
worn it since early in April when there were no cockle-burs. She
forthwith nailed a horseshoe on the door to keep the witches out,
and she never liked the shawl so well after she had projected a
mental picture of a lady wearing it, riding on a broomstick, and
sporting also a long peaked nose.
Birt hardly noticed the crusty and ungracious conduct of Andy Byers
toward him. He worked on doggedly, scheming all the time to get off
from the tanyard, and wondering again and again why Nate had gone,
and where, and when he would return.
One day--a gray day it was and threatening rain--as he came suddenly
out of the shed, he saw a boy at the bars. It was Nate Griggs! No;
only for a moment he thought this was Nate. But this fellow's eyes
were not so close together; his hair was less sandy; there were no
facial indications of extreme slyness. It was only Nathan's humble
likeness, his younger brother, Timothy.
He had Nate's coat thrown over his arm, and he shouldered his
brother's rifle.
Tim came slouching slowly into the tanyard, a good-natured grin on
his face. He paused only to knock Rufe's hat over his eyes, as the
small boy stood in front of the low-spirited mule, both hands busy
with the animal's mouth, striving to open his jaws to judge by his
teeth how old he might be.
"The critter'll bite ye, Rufe!" Birt exclaimed, for as Rufe stooped
to pick up his hat the mule showed some curiosity in his turn, and
was snuffling at Rufe's hay-colored hair.
Rufe readjusted his head-gear, and ceasing his impolite researches
into the mule's age, came up to the other two boys. Tim had paused
by the shed, and leaning upon the rifle, began to talk.
"I war a-passin' by, an' I thought I'd drap in on ye."
"Hev you-uns hearn from Nate since he hev been gone away?" demanded
Birt anxiously.
"He hev come home," responded Tim.
"When did he git home?" Birt asked with increasing suspicion.
"Las' week," said Tim carelessly.
Another problem! Why had Nate not communicated with his partner
about their proposed work? It seemed a special avoidance.
"I onderstood ez how he aimed ter bide away longer," Birt remarked.
"He did count on stayin' longer," said Tim, "but he rid night an'
day ter git hyar sooner. It 'pears like ter me he war in sech a
hurry so ez ter start ME ter work, and nuthin' else in this worl'.
I owe Nate a debt, ye see, an' I hev ter work it out. I hev been so
onlucky ez I couldn't make out ter pay him nohow in the worl'. Ye
see, I traded with Nate fur a shoat, an' the spiteful beastis
sneaked out'n my pen, an' went rootin' round the aidge o' the
clearin', an' war toted off bodaciously by a bar ez war a-prowlin'
round thar. An' I got no good o' that thar shoat, 'kase the bar hed
him, but I hed to pay fur him all the same. An' dad gin his
cornsent ter Nate ter let me work a month an' better fur him, ter
pay out'n debt fur the shoat."
"What work be you-uns goin' ter do?" Birt had a strong impression,
amounting to a conviction, that there was something behind all this,
which he was slowly approaching.
"Why," said Tim, in surprise, "hain't ye hearn bout'n Nate's new
land what he hev jes' got 'entered' ez he calls it? He hev got a
grant fur it from the land-office down yander in Sparty, whar he hev
been."
"New land--'ENTERED!'" faltered Birt.
Tim nodded. "Nate fund a trac' o' land a-layin' ter suit his mind
what b'longed ter nobody but the State--vacant land, ye see--an' so
he went ter the 'entry-taker,' they calls him, an' gits it
'entered,' an' the surveyor kem an' medjured it, an' then Nate got a
grant fur it, an' now it air his'n. The Gov'nor o' the State hev
sot his name ter that thar grant--the Gov'nor o' Tennessee!"
reiterated Tim pridefully. "An' the great seal o' the State!"
"Whar be the land?" gasped Birt, possessed by a dreadful fear.
His face was white, its muscles rigid. Its altered expression could
not for an instant have escaped the notice of Timothy's brother
Nathan.
"Why, it lays bout'n haffen mile off--all down the ravine nigh that
thar salt-lick; but look-a-hyar, Birt--what ails ye?"
The stunned despair in the white face had at last arrested his
careless attention.
"Don't ye be mindin' of me--I feel sorter porely an' sick all of a
suddint; tell on 'bout the land an' sech," said Birt.
He sat down on the end of the wood-pile, and Tim, still leaning on
the rifle, recommenced. He was generally much cowed and kept down
by Nate, and was unaccustomed to respect and consideration.
Therefore he felt a certain gratification in having so attentive a
listener.
"Waal, I never hearn o' this fashion o' enterin' land like Nate done
in all my life afore; though dad say that's the law in Tennessee,
ter git a title ter vacant land ez jes' b'longs ter the State.
Mebbe them air the ways ez Nate l'arned whilst he war a-hangin'
round the Settlemint so constant, an' forever talkin' ter the men
thar."
Birt's precocity had never let him feel at a disadvantage with Nate,
although his friend was five years older. Now he began to
appreciate that Nate was indeed a man grown, and had become
sophisticated in the ways of his primitive world by his association
with the other men at the Settlement.
There was a pause. But the luxury of being allowed to talk without
contradiction or rebuke presently induced Tim to proceed.
"He war hyar mighty nigh all day long," he said reflectively. "He
eat his dinner along of we-uns."
"Who? the Gov'nor o' the State?" exclaimed Birt, astounded.
"Naw, 'twarn't HIM," Tim admitted somewhat reluctantly, since Birt
seemed disposed to credit "we-uns" with a gubernatorial guest.
"It's the surveyor I'm talkin' 'bout. Nate hed ter pay him three
dollars an' better fur medjurin' the land. He tole Nate ez his land
war ez steep an' rocky a spot ez thar war in Tennessee from e-end
ter e-end. He axed Nate what ailed him ter hanker ter pay taxes on
sech a pack o' bowlders an' bresh. He 'lowed the land warn't wuth a
cent an acre."
"What did Nate say?" asked Birt, who hung with feverish interest on
every thoughtless word.
"Waal, Nate 'lows ez he hev fund a cur'ous metal on his land; he say
it air GOLD!" Tim opened his eyes very wide, and smacked his lips,
as if the word tasted good. "He 'lowed ez he needn't hev been in
sech a hurry ter enter his land, 'kase the entry-taker told it ter
him ez it air the law in Tennessee ez ennybody ez finds a mine or
val'able min'ral on vacant land hev got six months extry ter enter
the land afore ennybody else kin, an' ef ennybody else wants ter
enter it, they hev ter gin the finder o' the mine thirty days'
notice."
Tim winked, an impressive demonstration but for the insufficiency of
eyelashes: -
"The surveyor he misdoubted, an' 'lowed ez gold hed never been fund
in these parts. He said they fund gold in them mountings furder
east 'bout twenty odd year ago--in 1831, I believe he said. He
'lowed them mountings hain't got no coal like our'n hev, an' the
Cumberland Mountings hain't got no gold. An' then in a minit he tuk
ter misdoubtin' on the t'other side o' his mouth. He 'lowed ez
Nate's min'ral MOUGHT be gold, an' then ag'in it moughtn't."
The essential difference between these two extremes has afforded
scope for vacillation to more consistent men than the surveyor.
"Thar's the grant right now, in the pocket o' Nate's coat," said
Tim, shifting the garment on his arm to show a stiff, white folded
paper sticking out of the breast pocket. "I reckon when he tole me
ter tote his gun an' coat home, he furgot the grant war in his
pocket, 'kase he fairly dotes on it, an' won't trest it out'n his
sight."
Nate was in the habit of exacting similar services from his
acquiescent younger brother, and Tim had his hands full, as he tried
to hold the gun, and turn the coat on his arm. He finally hung the
garment on a peg in the shed, and shouldered the weapon. Suddenly
he whirled around toward Rufe, who was still standing by.
"What in the nation air inside o' that thar boy?" he exclaimed. "A
chicken, ain't it?"
For a musical treble chirping was heard proceeding apparently from
Rufe's pocket. This chicken differed from others that Rufe had put
away, in being alive and hearty.
The small boy entered into the conversation with great spirit, to
tell that a certain hen which he owned had yesterday come off her
nest with fourteen of the spryest deedies that ever stepped. One in
especial had so won upon Rufe by its beauty and grace of deportment
that he was carrying it about with him, feeding it at close
intervals, and housing it in the security of his pocket.
The deedie hardly made a moan. There was no use in remonstrating
with Rufe,--everything that came within his eccentric orbit seemed
to realize that,--and the deedie was contentedly nestling down in
his pocket, apparently resigned to lead the life of a portemonnaie.
Rufe narrated with pardonable pride the fact that, some time before,
his great-uncle, Rufus Dicey, had sent to him from the "valley
kentry" a present of a pair of game chickens, and that this deedie
was from the first egg hatched in the game hen's brood.
But Rufe was not selfish. He offered to give Tim one of the chicks.
Now poultry was Tim's weakness. He accepted with more haste than
was seemly, and at once asked for the deedie in the small boy's
pocket. Rufe, however, refused to part from the chick of his
adoption, and presently Tim, with the gun on his shoulder, left the
tanyard in company with Rufe, to look over the brood of game chicks,
and make a selection from among them.
Birt hardly noticed what they did or said. Every faculty was
absorbed in considering the wily game which his false friend had
played so successfully. It was all plain enough now. The fruit of
his discovery would be plucked by other hands. There was to be no
division of the profits. Nate Griggs had coveted the whole. His
craft had secured it for himself alone. He had the legal title to
the land, the mine--all! There seemed absolutely no vulnerable
point in his scheme. With suddenly sharpened perceptions, Birt
realized that if he should now claim the discovery and the
consequent right of thirty days' notice of Nate's intention, by
virtue of the priority of entering land accorded by the statute to
the finder of a mine or valuable mineral, it would be considered a
groundless boast, actuated by envy and jealousy. He had told no one
but Nate of his discovery--and would not Nate now deny it!
However, one thing in the future was certain,--Nathan Griggs should
not escape altogether scathless. For a long time Birt sat
motionless, revolving vengeful purposes in his mind. Every moment
he grew more bitter, as he reflected upon his wrecked scheme, his
wonderful fatuity, and the double dealing of his chosen coadjutor.
But he would get even with Nate Griggs yet; he promised himself
that,--he would get even!
At last the falling darkness warned him home. When he rose his
limbs trembled, his head was in a whirl, and the familiar scene
swayed, strange and distorted, before him. He steadied himself
after a moment, finished the odd jobs he had left undone, and
presently was trudging homeward.
A heavy black cloud overhung the woods; an expectant stillness
brooded upon the sultry world; an angry storm was in the air. The
first vivid flash and simultaneous peal burst from the sky as he
reached the passage between the two rooms.
"Ye air powerful perlite ter come a-steppin' home jes' at supper-
time," said his mother advancing to meet him. "Ye lef' no wood
hyar, an' ye said ye would borry the mule, an' come home early a-
purpose to haul some. An' me hyar with nuthin' to cook supper with
but sech chips an' blocks an' bresh ez I could pick up off'n the
groun'."
Birt's troubles had crowded out the recollection of this domestic
duty.
"I clean furgot," he admitted, penitently. Then he asked suddenly,
"An' whar war Rufe, an' Pete, an' Joe, ez YE hed ter go ter pickin'
up of chips an' sech off'n the groun'?"
He turned toward the group of small boys. "Air you-uns all disabled
somehows, ez ye can't pick up chips an' bresh an' sech?" he said.
"An' ef ye air, whyn't ye go ter the tanyard arter me?"
"They war all off in the woods, a-lookin' arter Rufe's trap ez ye
sot fur squir'ls," Mrs. Dicey explained. "It hed one in it, an' I
cooked it fur supper."
Birt said that he could go out early with his axe and cut enough
wood for breakfast tomorrow, and then he fell silent. Once or twice
his preoccupied demeanor called forth comment.
"Whyn't ye eat some o' the squir'l, Birt?" his mother asked at the
supper table. "Pears-like ter me ez it air cooked toler'ble tasty."
Birt could not eat. He soon rose from the table and resumed his
chair by the window, and for half an hour no word passed between
them.
The thunder seemed to roll on the very roof of the cabin, and it
trembled beneath the heavy fall of the rain. At short intervals a
terrible blue light quivered through crevices in the "daubin'"
between the logs of the wall, and about the rude shutter which
closed the glassless window. Now and then a crash from the forest
told of a riven tree. But the storm had no terrors for the inmates
of this humble dwelling. Pete and Joe had already gone to bed;
Tennessee had fallen asleep while playing on the floor, and Rufe
dozed peacefully in his chair. Even Mrs. Dicey nodded as she
knitted, the needles sometimes dropping from her nerveless hand.
Birt silently watched the group for a time in the red light of the
smouldering fire and the blue flashes from without. At length he
softly rose and crept noiselessly to the door; the fastening was the
primitive latch with a string attached; it opened without a sound in
his cautious handling, and he found himself in the pitchy darkness
outside, the wild mountain wind whirling about him, and the rain
descending in steady torrents.
He had stumbled only a few steps from the house when he thought he
indistinctly heard the door open again. He dreaded his mother's
questions, but he stopped and looked back.
He saw nothing. There was no sound save the roar of the wind, the
dash of the rain, and the commotion among the branches of the trees.
He went on once more, absorbed in his dreary reflections and the
fierce anger that burned in his heart.
"I'll git even with Nate Griggs," he said, over and again. "I'll
git even with him yit."