Jubal Perkins broke the silence.
"Andy Byers," he exclaimed wrathfully, "what sort 'n tale is this ez
ye air tryin' ter fool me with?"
Byers, perturbed and indignant, was instantly ready to accuse Birt.
"Ye hev been hyar an' got the grant an' sneaked it off agin, hev
ye!" he cried, scowling at the boy.
Then he turned to the tanner. "I hope I may drap dead, Jube," he
said earnestly, "ef that grant warn't right hyar"--he pointed at the
spot--"las' night whenst I lef' the tanyard. I always looked late
every evenin' ter be sure it hedn't been teched, thinkin' I'd make
up my mind in the night whether I'd tell on Birt, or no. But I
never could git plumb sati'fied what to do."
His tone carried conviction. The tanner looked at Birt with
disappointment in every line of his face. There was severity, too,
in his expression. He was beginning to admit the fitness of harsh
punishment in this case.
"Ye don't wuth all this gabblin' an' jawin' over ye, ye miser'ble
leetle critter," he said. "An' I ain't goin' ter waste another
breath on ye."
Birt stood vacantly staring at the tan. All the energy of the truth
was nullified by the futility of protestation.
The two men exchanged a glance of vague comment upon his silence,
and then they too looked idly down at the pit.
Tennessee abruptly caught Birt's listless hand as it hung at his
side, for Towse had suddenly entered the tanyard, and prancing up to
her in joyous recognition, was trying to lick her face.
"G'way, Towse," she drawled gutturally. She struck vaguely at him
with her chubby little fist, which he waggishly took between his
teeth in a gingerly gentle grip.
"Stand back thar, Tennessee," Birt murmured mechanically.
As usual, Towse was the precursor of Rufe, who presently dawdled out
from the underbrush. He quickened his steps upon observing the
intent attitude of the party, and as he came up he demanded
vivaciously, "What ails that thar pit o' yourn, Mister Perkins?--
thought ye said 't warn't goin' ter be opened ag'in fore-shortly."
For a moment the tanner made no reply. Then he drawled absently,
"Nuthin' ails the pit, Rufe--nuthin'."
Rufe sat down on the edge of it, and gazed speculatively at it.
Presently he began anew, unabashed by the silence of the grave and
contemplative group.
"This hyar tan hev got sorter moist atop now; I wonder ef that thar
grant o' Nate's got spi'led ennywise with the damp."
Birt winced. It had been a certain mitigation of his trouble that,
thanks to his mother's caution, the children at home knew nothing of
the disgrace that had fallen upon him, and that there, at least, the
atmosphere was untainted with suspicion.
The next moment he was impressed by the singularity of Rufe's
mention of the missing grant and its place of concealment.
"Look-a-hyar, Rufe," he exclaimed, excitedly; "how d'ye know
ennything 'bout Nate's grant an' whar 't war hid?"
Rufe glanced up scornfully, insulted in some occult manner by the
question.
"How did I know, Birt Dicey? How d'ye know yerse'f?" he retorted.
"I knows a heap, ginerally."
Perkins, catching the drift of Birt's intention, came to the rescue.
"Say, bub, how d'ye know the grant war ever put hyar?"
"Kase," responded Rufe, more amicably, "I seen it put hyar--right
yander."
He indicated the spot where the paper lay, according to Byers, when
it was discovered.
Birt could hardly breathe. His anxieties, his hopes, his fears,
seemed a pursuing pack before which he was almost spent. He panted
like a hunted creature. Tennessee was swinging herself to and fro,
holding by his hand. Sometimes she caught at Towse's unlovely ear,
as he sat close by with his tongue lolled out and an attentive air,
as if he were assisting at the discussion.
"Who put it thar, bub?" demanded Perkins.
It would not have surprised Birt, so perverse had been the course of
events, if Rufe had accused him on the spot.
"Pig-wigs Griggs," replied Rufe, unexpectedly.
A glance of intelligence passed between the men.
"Tell 'bout it, Rufe," said the tanner, suppressing all appearance
of excitement.
"Ye ain't goin' ter do nuthin' ter Pig-wigs fur foolin' with yer
pit, ef I tell ye?" asked Rufe, quickly.
"Naw, bub, naw. Which Griggs do ye call 'Pig-wigs?'"
"Why--PIG-WIGS," Rufe reiterated obviously.
Then he explained. "He air Nate's nevy. He air Nate's oldest
brother's biggest boy,--though he ain't sizable much. He air 'bout
haffen ez big ez me--ef that," he added reflectively, thinking that
even thus divided he had represented Pig-wigs as more massive than
the facts justified.
"Ye see," he continued, "one day when his uncle Tim war over hyar
ter the tanyard, I gin him one o' my game deedies; an' ez soon ez he
got home he showed 'em all that thar deedie--powerful, spryest
poultry ye ever see!"
Rufe smiled ecstatically as only a chicken fancier can.
"An' Pig-wigs war plumb DE-stracted fur a deedie too. An' he run
all the way over hyar ter git me ter gin him one. But the deedies
hed all gone ter bed, an' the old hen war hoverin' of 'em, an' I
didn't want ter 'sturb 'em," said Rufe considerately. "So I tole
Pig-wigs ter meet me at the tanyard early, an' I'd fetch him one.
An' ez his granny war goin' visitin' her merried daughter, she let
him ride behind her on thar sorrel mare ez fur ez the tanyard. So
he got hyar 'fore I did. An' I kem an' gin him the deedie."
Rufe paused abruptly, as if, having narrated this important
transaction, he had exhausted the interest of the subject.
Byers was about to speak, but the tanner with a gesture repressed
him.
"Ye hain't tole 'bout the pit an' the grant yit, bubby," he reminded
the small boy.
Byers's display of impatience was not lost upon Rufe, and it added
to the general acrimony of their relations.
"Waal," the small boy began alertly, "we-uns hed the deedie behind
the smoke-house thar, an' I seen HIM"--Rufe pointed at Byers with
disfavor--"a-comin' powerful slow inter the tanyard, an' I whispered
ter Pig-wigs Griggs ter be quiet, an' not let HIM know ez we-uns war
thar, 'kase he war always a-jawin' at me, 'thout the tanner war by
ter keep him off'n me. So we-uns bided thar till HE went inter the
smoke-house. An' then ez we-uns kem by the shed, Pig-wigs seen his
uncle Nate's coat hangin' on a peg thar, 'kase that thar triflin'
Tim hed furgot, an' lef' it thar when he went ter see the deedies.
An' Pig-wigs Griggs, he 'lowed he knowed the coat war his uncle
Nate's by the favior of it, an' he reckoned the paper stickin' out'n
the pocket war the grant he hed hearn Nate talkin' 'bout. An' I
whispered ter him ez he hed better ondertake ter tote it home ter
Nate. An' Pig-wigs said he couldn't tote the coat, bein' so
lumbered up with the deedie. But he would tote the grant in one
hand an' the deedie in t'other. He couldn't put the deedie in one
o' his pockets, 'kase his mother sews 'em all up, bein' ez he WOULD
kerry sech a passel o' heavy truck in 'em,--rocks an' sech, reg'lar
bowlders," added Rufe, with a casual remembrance of the museum in
his own pockets. "So Pig-wigs's mother sewed 'em all up, 'kase she
said they war tore out all the time, an' she seen no sense in a boy
hevin' a lot o' slits in his clothes ter let in the air slanchwise
on him. An' Pig-wigs 'lowed he'd tote the grant ef I would git it
fur him. An' I did."
"How did you-uns reach up ter that thar peg?" demanded Byers,
pointing to the peg on which the coat had hung, far beyond Rufe's
reach.
"Clumb up on the wooden horse," said Rufe promptly. "I peeked
through the chinkin' an' seen ye thar a-smokin' yer pipe over the
fire."
Rufe winked audaciously, suddenly convincing Byers as to the
possessor of the big black eyes, which he had recognized as
characteristic of the Dicey family, when they had peered through the
chinking.
"Waal, how did the grant git inter the pit, Rufe, an' what hev
become of it?" asked Byers, overlooking these personalities, for he
felt a certain anxiety in the matter, being the last person known to
have seen the grant, which, by reason of his delay and indecision,
had again been spirited away.
"Pig-wigs put it thar, I tell ye," reiterated Rufe. "Ye see, I hed
got outside o' the gate, an' Pig-wigs war a good ways behind,
walkin' toler'ble slow, bein' ez he hed ter kerry the grant in one
hand an' the deedie in t'other. An' thar I see a-cropin' along on
the ground a young rabbit--reg'lar baby rabbit. An' I motioned ter
Pig-wigs ter come quick--I hed fund suthin'. An' ez Pig-wigs
couldn't put the deedie down, he laid the grant on top o' the boards
ez kivered the pit. But the wind war brief, an' kem mighty nigh
blowin' that grant away. So Pig-wigs jes' stuck it down 'twixt two
planks, an' kem ter holp me ketch the rabbit. But Pig-wigs warn't
no 'count ter holp. An' the rabbit got away. An' whilst Pig-wigs
war foolin' round, he drapped his deedie, an' stepped on it--tromped
the life out'n it." Rufe's expression was of funereal gravity.
"An' then he follered me every foot o' the way home, beggin' an'
beggin' me ter gin him another. But I wouldn't. I won't gin no
more o' my deedies ter be tromped on, all round the mounting."
Rufe evidently felt that the line must be drawn somewhere.
"An' what hev gone with that thar grant? 'T war hyar yestiddy."
"I dunno," responded Rufe, carelessly. "Mebbe Pig-wigs reminded
hisself 'bout'n it arter awhile, an' kem an' got it."
This proved to be the case. For Andy Byers concerned himself enough
in the matter to ride the old mule over to Nate's home, to push the
inquiries. Nate was just emerging from the door. The claybank
mare, saddled and bridled, stood in front of the cabin. He was
evidently about to mount.
"Look-a-hyar, ye scamp!" Byers saluted him gruffly, "whyn't ye let
we-uns know ez ye hed got back that thar grant o' yourn, ez hev sot
the whole mounting catawampus? Pig-wigs hearn ye talkin' 'bout it
at las', and tole ye ez he hed it, I s'pose?"
Nate affected to examine the saddle-girth. He looked furtively over
the mare's shoulder at Andy Byers. He could not guess how much of
the facts had been developed. In sheer perversity he was tempted to
deny that he had the grant. But Byers was a heavy man of scant
patience, and he wore a surly air that boded ill to a trifler.
Nate nodded admission.
"Pig-wigs fotched it home, eh?" demanded Byers, leaning downward.
Once more Nate lifted his long, thin questioning face. His craft
had no encouragement.
"Ef ye be minded to call him 'Pig-wigs'--his right name air
Benjymen--'t war him ez fotched it home."
"Now ye air a mighty cantankerous, quar'lsome, aggervatin' critter!"
Byers broke out irritably. "Ain't ye 'shamed o' this hyar hurrah ye
hev kicked up fur nuthin'? accusin' o' Birt wrongful, an' sech?"
"Naw; I ain't 'shamed o' nuthin'!" said Nate hardily, springing into
the saddle. "I'm a-ridin' ter the SettleMINT ter git word from the
assayer 'bout'n the gold ez I hev fund. An' when I rides back I'll
be wuth more'n enny man in the mountings or Sparty either!"
And he gave the mare the whip, and left Andy Byers, with his mouth
full of rebukes, sitting motionless on the dozing old mule.
The mare came back from the Settlement late that night under lash
and spur, at a speed she had never before made. Day was hardly
astir when Nate Griggs, wild-eyed and haggard, appeared at the
tanyard in search of Birt. He was loud with reproaches, for the
assayer had pronounced the "gold" only worthless iron pyrites. He
had received, too, a jeering letter from his proposed partner in
Sparta, who had found sport in playing on his consequential
ignorance and fancied sharpness. And now Nate declared that Birt,
also, had known that the mineral was valueless, and had from the
first befooled him. In some way he would compel Birt to refund all
the money that had been expended. How piteous was Nate as he stood
and checked off, on his trembling fingers, the surveyor's fee, the
entry-taker's fee, the register's fee, the secretary of State's fee,
the assayer's fee--Oh, ruin, ruin! And what had he to show for it!
a tract of crags and chasms and precipitous gravelly slopes and
gullies worth not a mill an acre! And this was all--for the office
of laughing-stock has no emoluments. Where was Birt? He would hold
Birt to account.
Andy Byers, listening, thought how well it was for Birt that Nate no
longer had the loss of the grant as a grievance.
Perkins mysteriously beckoned Nate aside. "Nate," he said in a low
voice, "Birt air powerful mad 'bout that thar accusin' him o'
stealin' the grant, when 't war some o' yer own folks, 'Pig-wigs,'
ez hed it all the time. I seen him goin' 'long towards yer house a
leetle while ago. I reckon he air lookin' fur you. He hed that big
cowhide, ez I gin him t'other day, in one hand. Ye jes' take the
road home, an' ye'll ketch up with him sure."
Nate's wits were in disastrous eclipse. Could he deduce nothing
from the tanner's grin? He spent the day at the Settlement without
ostensible reason, and only at nightfall did he return home, and by
a devious route, very different from that indicated by Jubal
Perkins.
Inquiry developed the fact that the boundaries of Nate's land did
not include the salt lick, and his talents as an obstructer were not
called into play. The professor was free to dig as he chose for the
antique bones he sought, and many a long day did he and Birt spend
in this sequestered spot, with the great crags towering above and
the darkling vistas of the ravine on either hand. There was a long
stretch of sunny weather, and somehow that shifting purple haze
accented all its languorous lustres. It seemed a vague sort of
poetry a-loose in the air, and color had license. The law which
decreed that a leaf should be green was a dead letter. How
gallantly red and yellow they flared; and others, how tenderly pink,
and gray, and purplish of hue! What poly-tinted fancies underfoot
in the moss! Strange visitants came from the north. Flocks of
birds, southward bound, skimmed these alien skies. Sometimes they
alighted on the tree-tops or along the banks of the torrent,
chattering in great excitement, commenting mightily on the country.
Birt had never been so light-hearted as during these days. The
cessation of anxiety was itself a sort of happiness. The long, hard
ordeal to which the truth had subjected him had ended triumphantly.
"Mighty onexpected things happen in this worl'," he said,
reflectively. "It 'pears powerful cur'ous to me, arter all ez hev
come an' gone, ez _I_ ain't no loser by that thar gold mine down the
ravine."
He himself was surprised that he did not rejoice in Nate's
mortification and defeat. But somehow he had struck a moral
equilibrium; in mastering his anger and thirst for revenge, he had
gained a stronger control of all the more unworthy impulses of his
nature.
Meantime there was woe at the tanyard. Jube Perkins had been
anxious to have Birt resume his old place on the old terms. The
professor, however, would not release the boy from his engagement.
It seemed that this man of science could deduce subtle distinctions
of character in the mere wielding of a spade. He had never seen, he
said, any one dig so conscientiously and so intelligently as Birt.
The tanner suddenly found that conscience might prove a factor even
in so simple a matter as driving the old mule around the bark-mill.
The boy who had taken Birt's place was a sullen, intractable fellow,
and brutal. When he yelled and swore and plied the lash, the old
mule would occasionally back his ears. The climax came one day when
the rash boy kicked the animal. Now this reminded the mild-mannered
old mule of his own youthful prowess as a kicker. He revived his
reputation. He seemed to stand on his fore-legs and his muzzle,
while his hind-legs played havoc behind him. The terrified boy
dared not come near him. The bark-mill itself was endangered. Jube
Perkins had not done so much work for a twelvemonth as in his
efforts to keep the boy, the mule, and the bark-mill going together.
There were no "finds" down by the lick to rejoice the professor, and
he went away at last boneless, except in so far as nature had
provided him. He left Birt amply rewarded for his labor. So
independent did Mrs. Dicey feel with this sum of money in reserve,
that she would not agree that Birt should work on the old terms with
the tanner. Birt was dismayed by this temerity. Once more,
however, he recognized her acumen, for Jubal Perkins, although he
left the house in a huff, came back again and promised good wages.
Ignorant and simple as she was, her keen instinct for her son's best
interest, his true welfare, endowed her words with wisdom.
Thenceforth he esteemed no friend, no ally, equal to his mother.
It delighted him to witness her triumph in the proof of his
innocence, and indeed she did not in this matter bear herself with
meekness. It made him feel so prosperous to note her relapse into
her old caustic habit of speech. Ah, if he were hurt or sore beset,
every word would be tenderness.
Birt shortly compassed a much desired object. The mule's revival of
his ancient glories as a "turrible kicker" had injured his market
value, and Birt's earnings enabled him to purchase the animal at a
low price. The mule lived to a great age, always with his master as
"mild-mannered" as a lamb.
For some time Birt saw nothing of Nate, but one day the quondam
friends met face to face on a narrow, precipitous path on the
mountain side. Abject fear was expressed in Nate's sharp features,
for escape was impossible.
There was no need of either fear or flight.
"How air ye, I'on Pyrite!" cried Birt cheerfully.
The martyr's countenance changed.
"Ye never done me right 'bout that thar mine, Birt Dicey," Nate said
reproachfully. "Ye mus' hev knowed from the fust ez them thar rocks
war good fur nuthin'."
"Ye air the deceivinest sandy-headed Pyrite that ever war on the top
o' this mounting, an' ye knows it," Birt retorted in high good
humor; "an' ef it war wuth my while I'd gin ye a old-fashion
larrupin' jes' ter pay ye fur the trick ez ye played on me. But I
ain't keerin' fur that, now. Stan' back thar, Tennessee!"
Since then, Tennessee, always preserving the influence she wielded
that memorable night, has grown to be a woman--never pretty, but, as
her brother still stoutly avers, "powerful peart."