STOLEN ROSIN
The next minute Burnam had wheeled and was rushing toward his men,
arms raised, shouting vehemently. Joe stood for a moment as if
paralyzed; he made a step to follow Burnam; a flood of wild words
rushed into his mouth; but then he stopped. This was no time for an
altercation. But he would not lift another finger, he said to himself,
to keep the whole camp from burning up; and, boiling with rage, he
went straight to Wilson’s house, where he boarded. He almost regretted
his efforts to save the turpentine.
Nobody was in the house. Every one was out at the fire, which was
mainly at the other side of the camp and at a safe distance. But the
red light shone through all the windows, making a lamp unnecessary,
and by the glare Joe went to his room and began to get out his
possessions and pack them in his trunk. His first idea was that he
would leave the camp that very hour.
But this would be hardly practicable. He would leave the first thing
in the morning. The more he thought of Burnam’s incredible outburst
the more outraged he felt at the man’s injustice; and the more furious
he felt with himself at the stupid answers he had made. But it was all
over now; he was going to go. Burnam’s camp was unquestionably going
to go, too. Joe resolved to consult Uncle Louis, probably put his
claim into the hands of a lawyer, and take what he could get as one of
the creditors.
The only thing that cheered him was the thought of the rosin “mine.”
There was going to be money in that, and he felt no scruple now at
taking possession. Burnam owed him more than that, if, indeed, Burnam
had any rights in the rosin at all. Joe began to convince himself that
the rosin mine was legally his own property. Surely it was absurd to
think otherwise. He had, at any rate, no immediate way of deciding the
question, and he was willing to take a chance on it.
How to get the stuff away was a troublesome problem. There might be
tons of it. It would have to be taken away by the river, on some sort
of large flatboat or barge. He would need some one to help him at it,
but hesitated to take any one into his confidence, for he knew that he
would have to get the rosin out secretly, under cover of darkness,
before Burnam could get wind of it. There was a sort of unpleasant
flavor of stealing about the affair, but he tried to ignore that
aspect of the case.
He thought of his cousins. Bob and Carl would probably be willing to
help him. In fact, when he came to think of it, their rights in the
rosin might be as good as his own. But he did not want to involve them
in this possibly lawless affair. They had no feud with Burnam. At the
same time, if he got the profits he hoped from the rosin, he was
firmly resolved to put the money into the bee business of the young
Canadians and become an apiarist himself.
He remembered Snowball, still hitched to a tree, and he slipped out to
put the horse in the stable and unsaddle him. Snowball did not belong
to Joe. It was Burnam’s horse, but Joe had ridden him for almost two
years and had grown so fond of the horse that it was hard to think of
parting from him.
The fire was under control now, and the red glow of the flame was
dying down. Joe went back to his room and finished his packing. An
hour later Morris, who shared the room with him, came in, black to the
eyes, his clothes burned full of holes, and was surprised to find Joe
lying on the bed, fully dressed and awake.
“Why, what’s the matter?” he exclaimed. “Where have you been? Not
hurt, are you? Burnam was asking for you.”
“He found me, all right,” said Joe bitterly. “Is the camp burned out?
Who set it on fire?”
“Why, nobody!” said the other woods-rider. “What made you think of
such a thing? It was an accident—carelessness, rather. The nigger that
tends the pump went off and left it while the still was working. The
engine went wrong and stopped running water into the retort. It got
hot, and the top of the still blew off. The red-hot rosin flew like
rain, and the whole place was afire in two seconds. Where were you all
the time?”
Joe briefly narrated the adventures of the evening, and his discharge.
“Shucks! that’s nothing!” said Morris. “The old man’s done that same
sort of thing before. He was half crazy to-night; he didn’t know what
he was saying. You’ll find that he’ll be all right in the morning, and
you can fix it up with him.”
“What’s the use,” said Joe. “This camp will never run again. Burnam
hasn’t got the money for a whole new stilling outfit and fresh cups,
and then to stand idle for weeks while it’s put in shape. No, he’ll
close down inside of a week, I’ll bet.”
“Maybe you’re right,” said Morris soberly. “I reckon I’d better be
studying about a new job for myself. What do you reckon you’ll do?
There’s plenty of other camps, you know.”
“Yes,” Joe evaded, “but I think I’ll go down and stop with my uncle
for a little while. I’ve got money in this concern, you know, and I
want to see what the chances are for getting any of it out.”
For some time the two young men discussed the different
turpentine-camps of the district, the chances of employment, and the
tendency of the turpentine market.
“Well, I’m going to bed,” Morris announced at last. “I’m dog-tired.
I’ll see you in the morning before you leave. But I think you’d better
see Burnam again before you do anything.”
He turned in, and was asleep in a few seconds; but Joe felt that he
would not be able to close an eye, and did not even undress. The glow
of the fire had gone; looking out, he could see the beds of red
embers, already fading. The camp had quieted. A brilliant moon shone
through the window; the smell of burned rosin and pine came strong
from outdoors, and a mocking-bird began to sing in the moonlight just
behind the house.
The whole camp was dead asleep after its exciting evening, but there
was no rest in Joe’s heart. He was bitter at the thought of his lost
inheritance, bitter at the way Burnam had rewarded his exertions. He
had worked like a nigger, he told himself, only to be robbed at the
end of it all. He hoped, indeed, to recover some of his loss from the
rosin mine, but even this had a bitterness of its own. He had
persuaded himself that he was acting rightly, but he could not
suppress his dislike of anything underhand.
He was very tired, and at last he did sleep, not to awake until dawn.
Morris still slept soundly; and without waking him Joe tiptoed
downstairs. Nobody was yet up in the house, and, going to the kitchen
he got a hasty cold breakfast for himself, and made up a large package
of what food he could find—corn-bread, cooked ham, cold biscuits, and
several raw eggs. He wanted provisions for one full day at least, and
his board was paid for several days in advance. Later he could send
word to have his trunk forwarded to him, and at some later day also he
might draw his week’s wages. He had a little money on him—all he
needed for the present.
The black ruins of the fire looked more dismal in the dawn as he went
out. He hurried to the stable and gave Snowball a half-dozen ears of
corn, probably the last feed from his hands. His rifle was still in
its sheath on the saddle, and he secured it, knowing that there was an
unopened box of cartridges in his pocket. The horse neighed softly and
nuzzled Joe’s shoulder.
“Good-by, Snowball, old boy!” Joe whispered, and hurried out.
He ran almost upon Burnam, and started back, but too late to avoid the
encounter. The turpentine operator was gazing despondently at the
ruins of the still. His face was streaked with soot yet, as if he had
imperfectly washed himself, and his face looked fatigued and worried
and almost old. Joe expected another harsh outburst, but Burnam looked
at him casually and nodded quite in his usual manner.
“Morning, Marshall!” he said. “You’re out early. Is there any hurry
about dipping down in your orchard?”
“N-no. I don’t think so,” Joe stammered, quite overcome with
astonishment.
“Well, you might ride over and look around, but I reckon I won’t send
the men over there to-day. We’ll need ’em here to clear up. Some one
told me—maybe it was you—about some barrels of gum catching fire. Did
it burn much?”
“Six or eight barrels, probably,” Joe replied, recovering himself.
“That’s too bad. But I don’t know whether we’ll be turpentining the
river orchard any more. I’ve got to see about getting a new still
first, and the furnace’ll have to be torn down and rebuilt, I guess.
Come back and tell me how things look.”
Joe muttered something inaudibly and turned away. He had no intention
of ever coming back. But he was utterly amazed at Burnam’s manner.
Could it be that, as Morris said, the man had been so excited that he
had not realized what he had been saying last night, and had now
entirely forgotten it. Such stories had been told of Burnam before. It
did not greatly matter, however; it was not so much words as facts
that weighed upon Joe’s mind. He felt sure that Burnam would get no
new still. The camp would go under. Indeed, Burnam had almost admitted
as much in saying that they would do no more with the river
orchard—the best section of his whole tract.
As Joe walked slowly down the river road he reflected that it would
greatly simplify matters for him if work on that river tract were
given up. In fact, he would hardly have been able to dig into his
rosin mine with the woods full of negroes.
As he went on the morning came up gloriously, windless and fresh. The
damp clay-banks by the roadside glowed with crimson and vermilion: the
scrub-oaks and pines beside it were dripping with dew. All the earth
and its vegetation were drenched, and to avoid a wetting Joe sat down
on a log by the roadside to wait till the dew in the woods had
somewhat dried. Besides, he needed to collect his thoughts, to
organize his plans.
He had sat there almost an hour, absorbed in schemes and speculations,
when he observed a figure coming down the road. It was an extremely
ragged negro, whistling loudly and carrying on his head a bundle
wrapped in colored cloth. Joe recognized him with a mixture of
annoyance and amusement.
“Sam!” he called. “What in the world are you doing here?”
The negro, grinning broadly and sheepishly, approached and put down
his bundle.
“Dunno, Mr. Joe,” he said. “I seen you come outer de camp ’fore day,
an’ I jes’ follered arter you, to see what you was fixin’ to do.”
“I’ve left Burnam’s, Sam,” said the former woods-rider.
“Now, I jes’ figgered dat what you ’bout to do,” said the negro boy,
earnestly. “So’m I, too. All de hands is fixin’ to go. Dey says dere
won’t be no more wages paid at dis camp, now de still’s done burnt.”
“I’m afraid you’ve got it about right,” said Joe. “But you’ll be all
right. You’re a good turpentine man now, and fellows like you can get
a job anywhere. There’s a big camp across the river where I hear they
want men. And here,” he added, taking out two silver dollars, “I’m a
little short myself, but this’ll help you to get there.”
“Thank you, Mr. Joe. Much obleeged!” said Sam, making no move to take
the money. “But I’d lots ruther go ’long with you, wherever you fixin’
to go. Mebbe you’ll be woods-ridin’ at some other camp, an’ I kin git
a job dere, too. But I don’t want no money, nohow. No-suh, Mr. Joe! Ef
you let me stay with you, I don’t want no wages, an’ mebbe I kin help
you some.”
“I’m going to live a wild life in the woods, Sam,” said Joe, gravely.
“Glory!” Sam shouted. “Dat’s de life for me! Now you jes’ ’bliged to
take me with you, Mr. Joe! I kin snare rabbits, an’ cotch birds in
traps, an’ I kin cotch fish where no one else can’t cotch none. I
knows how to make a canoe, an’ I kin make a fire without no matches. I
kin cook, too. Whoop-ee! You jes’ wait till you tastes some of my
cookin’. I tells you we’ll live high. Yes-suh, Mr. Joe!”
Joe laughed, a little touched too at the boy’s loyalty. Then it came
upon him that here was just the helper he needed for his work with the
rosin. Sam was as strong as a young mule, and absolutely faithful. For
a moment he hesitated about getting Sam mixed up in this surreptitious
business, but he quieted his conscience by telling himself that he
would carry all the responsibility, and if the venture succeeded he
would give the boy good wages.
“Maybe I can use you, Sam,” he said. “But it’ll be dangerous work, in
the dark and on the quiet.”
“Well, I ain’t never stole no hawgs nor chickens,” said Sam, evidently
bracing himself for lawlessness, “but I—”
“No, I’m not going to steal anything,” Joe interrupted. “But we’ll
have to live in the woods for a while and work at night—work hard,
too—and you’ll have to keep your mouth tight shut about it. If we pull
it off I’ll give you big wages—three times what you’d make
turpentining.”
“Golly, Mr. Joe! You ain’t fixin’ to make moonshine whisky?” cried
Sam, alarmed at last.
“Nothing like it,” said Joe, laughing. “Come along with me and I’ll
show you what it is.”
He led the way into the woods, past the emptied gum-cups, slowly
refilling now, past the charred remains of the burned barrels, until
he reached the open spot where he had discovered the rosin-bed. He
glanced about with an instinct of caution, lest anybody should be
within sight; then, with the iron bar he had used before, Joe raked
away the pine-needles and uncovered the surface of the valuable
deposit. As he worked he explained the origin of the mine to Sam, and
unfolded his plans regarding it.
“Why, sure, I’ve often heard of de old Marshall still,” cried Sam,
excited and highly elated. “But I never knowed where it was. Why, dere
must be a reg’lar fortune in yander. I heered of a place like dis
here, where dey got ten thousand dollars of rosin outer it.”
“I reckon that’s a fish-story,” said Joe. “If we do as well with this
one I’ll give you a thousand dollars. But the trouble is to get it out
and get away with it. This is Burnam’s land, you know. He’d order us
off if he caught us at it, I’m afraid. We’ll need tools to dig with,
and we’ll have to have some sort of big boat, so that we can move it
away as fast as we dig it out.”
“Dat’s shorely so,” said Sam, thoughtfully.
“Goin’ to be a mighty big job for jes’ you an’ me to git all out these
thousand barrels of rosin. Yes-suh, Mr. Joe. But we kin do it. I knows
a boy back at de camp what’s got a good spade he’ll sell for four
bits. An’ dere’s an old flatboat up de river bank a ways. I dunno
whether it’s any ’count now.”
Joe sent Sam back to the camp to buy the spade and another if he could
find one, and also to get all the provisions he could. Meanwhile he
himself went up through the woods to the river to look at the old
flatboat, which he dimly remembered having seen some time ago. It was
not more than half a mile away, and lay on the shore capsized, high
and dry. It had been abandoned as useless, and was old, cracked, and
leaky, but it looked as if it might be calked up. Rosin was not a
cargo to be harmed by wetting. But the boat would hardly carry the
whole contents of the bed, and when it was once floated down the river
he did not know how he would ever get it back again.
However, it was not worth while worrying about the second load till
they got out the first, and he walked back, to wait impatiently till
Sam returned with the spade. Sam had made all possible speed; he was
out of breath with hurrying; but he had been able to obtain only one
spade, and all the provisions he could secure were a large lump of
corn-pone and about a dozen baked sweet-potatoes.
But with Joe’s package of food this would do temporarily. He was
feverishly anxious to ascertain the real dimensions of the rosin-bed,
and he set Sam to open a trench across one end of the deposit, cutting
clear to its bottom. Digging was easy in that sandy soil, and in a few
minutes Sam had laid bare the end of the deposit and spaded the earth
away, sinking a hole deep enough to ascertain the thickness of the
rosin reef. It was fully four feet thick at that point, and seemed to
be ten or fifteen feet wide. The rosin was mixed with pine-needles,
bark and sand, having never been strained; and it occurred to Joe, as
a further difficulty, that he would have to remelt and strain it all,
if he was to get the full market price. But he did not trouble himself
about that, in the triumph of the moment. Sam was wildly enthusiastic,
for his experience at the camp made him fully appreciate the value of
the discovery.
“Done told you dere was ten thousand dollars’ worth!” he exclaimed
exultantly. “Whoop-ee! Reckon I’s goin’ git my thousand dollars, Mr.
Joe!”
“I reckon you won’t,” returned Joe, who was nevertheless almost as
excited as the negro. “There’s nothing like that much. But come round
to the other end, Sam, and let’s see how far it goes that way.”
Sam spaded furiously through the deep pine-needles at the other end.
At the depth of a foot or so he struck wood. It was a short piece of
pine log. He threw it out, then came upon another log, but found no
trace of rosin beyond a few loose lumps. Under the logs was a deep
layer of brushwood and pine boughs, still quite fresh.
“Dis hole’s been dug out already, an’ filled up again!” exclaimed Sam,
rolling horrified eyes upon his companion.
Joe seized the spade and tore out the rubbish. But Sam was right. A
great pit had very recently been dug there. The diggers had then
filled it in with brush, and, after placing small logs to make it
firm, had replaced earth and raked the surface of pine-needles back as
before. In probing with his iron on the first day Joe must have struck
this solid wood in many places, imagining it to be the rosin-bed.
“Somebody’s done robbed us!” moaned Sam. “Hol’ on! Lemme try in
another place.”
He rapidly excavated another trench in a different direction. This was
also a disappointment. Not a lump of rosin was there, nothing but the
same cunning filler of logs and boughs.
“Try here. No, give me the spade!” exclaimed Joe, wild with anxiety.
At the end of half an hour the glade looked as if it had been blown
up. They had dug it over from end to end, and the bitter truth was
plain to them. Somebody had already worked the mine. Only one end of
the big deposit was left, which happened to be the spot where Joe dug
into the ground on the day he made the discovery. All the rest of the
rosin-pit had been emptied, and carefully refilled. From the size of
the cavity it was apparent that hundreds of barrels had been taken
out. Two dozen barrels at most would hold what was left.
“Oh, my lan’!” Sam mourned. “Ain’t dat wickedness? Shore is! All de
same, Mr. Joe,” he added, brightening a little, “dere’s some left.
Mebbe a hundred dollars worth.”
A hundred and a thousand dollars were both fabulous sums to Sam, but
Joe saw it differently. In despair he cast about to think who could
possibly have perpetrated the theft so quietly. It had been done very
recently. Several persons must have been at work to carry off that
enormous quantity, and they must have had some means of transport
handy, a boat or—
The memory of the black houseboat flashed into his mind.
“I know where it’s gone, Sam!” he cried. “What a fool I was not to
think of it before. It wasn’t gum they were after. It was this rosin.
Pick up that iron bar and come along with me.”
Joe snatched up his rifle, assured himself that the magazine was full,
and started toward the river, with Sam at his heels. He suddenly felt
an absolute certainty that the houseboat men had done the stealing;
they had been responsible for all the late disturbances in the woods;
they had been covering up their operations in this way. No doubt there
were more than two men in that black boat, and the story of the sick
brother was undoubtedly false.
In his wrath Joe scarcely stopped to reflect that he had only one
weapon, against possibly three or four in the hands of lawless men. He
had an idea of taking the enemy totally by surprise. They ran across
the pine woods, went more cautiously through the swamp belt, and came
at last in sight of the bayou where the houseboat had been moored. But
the boat was gone. The bayou was empty.
Joe stopped with an exclamation of rage and despair. But Sam, after
poking about the remains of the camp-fire left ashore, spoke with an
air of determination.
“Dey ain’t been gone long, Mr. Joe. Dese ashes was made last night,
anyway. We kin cotch ’em yet. Dey’s shore gone down de ribber. Dey
can’t go up noways, an’ dem houseboats travels powerful slow. Dere’s a
canoe down at dis landin’. We kin run ’em down, ef you say so.”
“Good!” Joe exclaimed. “We’ll do it. Run back into the woods and get
the grub. I’ll go straight to the landing.”
It was not steamboat day, and nobody was about the landing when he got
there after fifteen minutes of tearing through tangled woods. He found
the canoe, a home-made, ownerless craft that had been public property
for years, and untied it. Ten minutes later Sam appeared with the
packages of food, and they went skimming down the river.
There were several paddles in the boat and a strong current running,
and they made good speed. The wooded shores rolled past. There was no
chance of overtaking the houseboat for miles or hours, however, and as
Joe paddled the manifold risks of the chase began to present
themselves sharply. There would be trouble when he did overtake the
enemy; there might be shots fired. Sam was courageous and loyal, but
he had no weapon but his iron bar. More force was needed for the
pursuit, and Joe began to think of his cousins at the plantation.
Before he reached Magnolia Landing his mind was made up.
“We’ll stop here at Magnolia, Sam,” he said, steering in. “You wait
for me. I won’t be long.”
Nobody was about Magnolia any more than at Marshall’s, and Joe hurried
up the road toward his uncle’s place. Partly running, partly walking,
he covered the distance in half an hour, and, entering the gate, he
reconnoitered cautiously. He was not anxious to be seen. He did not
want to have to make any explanations just then; but by great luck he
espied Bob Harman lounging on the front veranda with a book. It was
the very person he wished to see, and Joe managed to attract his
attention and signaled to him to come down to the gate, where he
waited behind a big chinaberry-tree.
Bob came out, astonished and expectant, full of greetings which his
cousin cut short. In a few seconds Joe informed him of the essential
features of the situation.
“I’m going after them,” he said. “I’m going to run them down and find
out what they’ve done with that stuff—get it back too. If you feel
like it, get your rifle and come along.”
“You bet I will!” exclaimed Bob enthusiastically. “And how about
Carl?”
Joe hesitated. “This may be a serious affair,” he said, “and I reckon
one of you-all is enough to get into it. Don’t say anything to
anybody. Pick up all the grub you can lay your hands on. We may be out
a couple of days, but I don’t think so. If Aunt Katie asks about it,
tell her I’ve called you to go hunting in a hurry, and I’ll see her
when we get back. Be quick, now.”
Bob was quick. In fifteen minutes he was back, with a big newspaper
parcel of provisions, his rifle under his arm, and his pockets heavy
with cartridges. The two boys hurried down the road, caught a
fortunate lift from a farmer’s mule wagon, and arrived at the landing,
where Sam grinned joyfully at this reinforcement. He had met the
Harmans when they visited the turpentine camp, and he was prepared to
extend his allegiance to them also, as members of the Marshall family.
“Howdy, Mr. Bob!” he exclaimed. “We goin’ cotch dem thieves now, shore
’nough.”
“Not if we don’t hurry!” said Joe nervously; and they all got aboard
and paddled out into the current.