CHAPTER XIII.
TEN DOLLARS REWARD.
When the quails had been taken out of the trap and put into the coop,the wagon drove on, and Dan sat down on his log to think about whathe had just heard, and to wait until the coast was clear, so that hecould resume his walk toward the landing. He had learned two things.One was that his brother had not given up the idea of trapping thequails, as he had supposed, and the other was that there was somebodybesides himself whom David had reason to fear.
"Looks now as though you were goin' to 'arn your money in spite ofDan and Lester," thought the listener, recalling the last words hehad heard Don utter. "That must be that Brigham boy up to that bigwhite house. What's he got to say 'bout it, I'd like to know? I'lljest keep an eye on him. He don't want to let me ketch him foolin'round them traps, 'kase I'll make him think war times has come backsure enough. Now that I've got another chance to 'arn a share in themhundred and fifty dollars, nobody shan't take it away from me."
Dan was as good as his word. He kept a sharp watch over David'sinterests, and perhaps we shall see that he was the means ofdefeating a certain plan, which, if it had been carried intoexecution, would have worked a great injury to the boy trapper.
The wagon having passed on out of hearing, Dan shouldered his rifleand started toward the landing. While he was skulking through thewoods at the lower end of the field, he stopped in a fence cornerlong enough to see David and his two friends transfer anothergood-sized catch from one of the traps to the coop in the wagon. Thesight encouraged him greatly. If David's good luck would onlycontinue for just one week, the fifty dozen birds would certainly becaptured, and Dan would stand a chance of making a small fortune. Itwas not so very small either in his estimation. His share would beseventy-five dollars--his father had told him so--and that would makea larger pile of greenbacks than Dan had ever seen at one time in hislife. With it he was sure he could buy a new gun as fine as the oneDon Gordon owned (he would not have believed it if any one had toldhim that that little breech-loader cost a hundred and twenty-fivedollars in gold), a jointed fish-pole, and some good clothes to wearto church; and when he had purchased all these nice things, he hopedto have enough left to buy a circus-horse like Don's, and perhaps asail-boat also. Godfrey, for reasons of his own, had held out thesegrand ideas to him during one of their interviews, and Dan, beingunable to figure the matter out for himself, believed all his fathertold him.
Having seen the second catch put into the coop, Dan started towardthe landing again. It was mail day, and consequently there was alarger number of loafers about the post-office than there usuallywas. Among them were Lester Brigham and Bob Owens, who seemed to bevery much interested in something that was fastened to thebulletin-board in the store. Having nothing better to do just thenDan walked up behind them, and looking over their shoulders spelledout with much difficulty the following--
"NOTICE.
"_Ten Dollars Reward_.
"Strayed or stolen, my black-and-white pointer, _Dandy_. I will paythe above reward for his safe return, and ask no questions; or I willgive _Five Dollars_ for any information that will lead to hisrecovery.
"DONALD GORDON."
"I am glad he has lost him, and I hope he will never see him again,"said Bob, spitefully. "If I knew where he was, I wouldn't tell himfor five times five dollars."
"What does he want him back for, anyhow?" said Lester. "Don isassisting in shipping quails out of the country, and the first thinghe knows the dog will be of no use to him."
Dan did not waste five minutes in loafing about the store after that.Here was something he had been waiting for ever since he stole thepointer. The owner had offered a heavy reward for his safe return--itwas twice as much as Godfrey said they ought to have--and the nextthing to be settled was, how to obtain the money, without facing DonGordon. This was a question over which Dan had often bothered his fewbrains, but without finding any way of answering it. Something mustbe determined upon now, however, for there was a nice little sum ofmoney at stake.
Dan made all haste to do his trading, and taking his stockings andshoes under his arm, set out for home, avoiding the road, as healways did when Don and Bert were about, and skulking around throughthe woods and fields. When he reached the cabin, he seated himselfupon the bench beside the door, and there he remained buildingair-castles until four o'clock in the afternoon. Then he began tobestir himself, and David, who came home that night before his motherdid, was surprised to find a roaring fire on the hearth, a pile ofwood large enough to last all the evening beside it, and in a panupon the table a half a dozen squirrels, dressed and ready for thefrying-pan.
"What in the world is up now?" thought David. "Dan's got an axe togrind, for he never does such things, unless he intends to makesomething by it."
"Halloo, Davy!" exclaimed Dan, cheerfully. "I thought mebbe you'd becold when you come hum, so I built up a fire to warm you. Jest lookat them thar squirrels, will you? Every one on 'em was shot throughthe head. Can you beat that?"
"No," answered David. "It can't be beaten."
"If we had a few quail now, we'd have a bully supper, wouldn't we?"continued Dan. "You don't seem to shoot no more quail lately, do you,Davy?"
"O, I can't hunt them without a dog to tell me where they are."
"Hain't you never heard nothin' from that pinter pup at all?"
"Not a word."
"I'm sorry. I wish I knowed whar he was, so't I could fetch him hack.I'm scandalous mad at myself fur takin' that money from you an' Don,an' if I had ten dollars I'd give 'em back to-night; but I hain't got'em, an' so I'm goin' to try an' find his dog fur him."
"He'll be very glad to get him," said David, who knew very well thathis brother had some other reason for taking this sudden interest inthe pointer.
"I want to act decent now, like a gentleman had oughter act," Danwent on; "an' if I do what I can fur Don, do you reckon he'll call itsquar'?"
"I don't know. You must talk to him about that."
"But I ain't agoin' to face him 'till I know how he feels towards me,I bet you. I don't know whar the dog is, more'n the man in the moon;but I'm kinder scentin' round, when I hain't got no work to do, an'if I should happen to find him, would you take him to Don fur me?"
"Of course I would, and be very glad to do it."
"Then I'll do what I kin, an' if I do say it myself, I kin find himif anybody kin. I kin afford to spend all my time lookin' fur him,kase I was down to the landin' to-day, an' I seed a notice stuck upthar sayin' that Don'll give ten dollars fur him an' ax no questions.What's the matter of you?" demanded Dan, as David turned quicklyabout and walked toward the door. "Hain't goin' off mad, be you?"
"I don't know what to make of you, Dan," replied David. "A littlewhile ago you gave me to understand that the reason why you wanted tobring the dog back to Don, was because you wanted to make everythingsquare between you and him; and now you say you want to do it becauseDon has offered a reward for him."
"An' I told you the gospel truth both times," exclaimed Dan. "Thatthar animile is wuth every cent of fifty dollars; an' if I bring himback, it'll be that much in Don's pocket an' ten dollars in mine. Ikin afford to work fur that, can't I?"
"Very well," said David. "If you will produce the dog, safe andsound, I'll take him to his master for you, and bring back the rewardif he gives it to me."
This interview had a perceptible effect upon both the boys. It tookaway all Dan's industry, and all David's peace of mind. The formerhad gained his point. He had made his brother promise to take Dandyto his owner and bring back the reward, and that was happiness forone day. He didn't chop any more wood or take any more interest inthe supper. He seated himself on the bench again and resumed theagreeable occupation in which he had spent the most of theafternoon--that of building air-castles.
David walked up and down the floor, with his hands in his pockets,thinking busily. He told himself over and over again that if it werenot for his mother, he would not care if he should never see his homeagain. He
was cheerful and happy when he was away from it, but italmost always happened that as soon as he crossed the thresholdsomething transpired to make him miserable and gloomy. Hisconversation with Dan had confirmed a suspicion that had been lurkingin his mind ever since the pointer disappeared. He had all the whileheld to the belief that Dan knew where the dog was, and Dan might aswell have confessed it, for his face and his actions constantlybetrayed him. David believed, too, that his father had not left thecountry, as a good many people in the settlement seemed to think, butthat he was hiding in the woods somewhere in the immediateneighborhood. Of this he had received proof that was almost positive.He knew, if Don and Bert did not, that it was something besides abear they had driven off Bruin's Island, on the day they went up thebayou with the hounds. He had seen footprints in the mud that weremade by a barefooted man; and more than that, having been the firstto come out of the cane when the dogs led the way toward the head ofthe island, he had caught a glimpse of something, as it wasdisappearing in the bushes on the main shore, which lookedwonderfully like the tattered hickory shirt his father had worn thelast time he saw him. This discovery, taken in connection with Dan'sbehavior, led David to believe that his father and brother were oftenin communication with each other; and when the pointer disappeared,he promptly settled it in his own mind that Godfrey and Dan were toblame for it. He was as certain now that Dan had had a finger in thebusiness as he would have been if he had seen him going off with thedog; and he resolved that as soon as the next day dawned, he wouldtake pains to find out whether or not he was correct in supposingthat his father was Dan's accomplice.
"Father hid on Bruin's Island while the Yankees were raiding throughhere," thought David. "When we drove him off, thinking he was a bear,of course he had to hunt a new hiding-place, and it is possible thathe is now camping close about there on the main shore. If I can findhis camp, I'll take a good look at it. If I don't see the pointerthere, well and good; I shall be very glad of it. But if he is there,I must get hold of him somehow. Don has been swindled out of enoughmoney by the black sheep of our family, and he shan't lose any moreby them if I can help it."
As this thought passed through David's mind, an expression ofdetermination settled on his face, which did not fail to attract thenotice of Dan, who just then happened to look into the cabin to seewhat his brother was doing.
"What you lookin' that ar way fur?" demanded Dan. "Ain't puttin' up ajob on me, be you?"
David replied that he was not.
"You'll take the pinter to Don an' fetch me back the ten dollars,honor bright?" continued Dan.
"That is what I promised to do, isn't it?" asked David in reply. "Butif I can help it you will never have the dog in your possessionagain," he added, mentally. "I didn't promise that I wouldn't headyou off if I could."
"An' you won't answer no questions? Don said in that notice that hewouldn't ax none."
"Then of course I shall not answer any. You needn't be afraid. Ishan't mention your name."
"Kase if you're thinkin' of puttin' up a job on me, Davy," said Dan,shaking his finger at his brother, "you won't never see that pinterag'in so long as you live. Keep still now. Here comes the ole woman."
Dan settled back on the bench again, and David took his hands out ofhis pockets long enough to throw a fresh log of wood on the fire--notbecause it was needed, but for the reason that he wanted to hide hisface from his mother for a minute or two until he could call to it amore cheerful expression than the one it was then wearing. He hadnever said a word to his mother about his suspicions regarding hisfather and Dan, for he wanted to talk to her about nothing butpleasant and agreeable things. She had enough to trouble her already.
David had everybody in the cabin up at an earlier hour than usual thenext morning, and after eating a very hasty breakfast, he took hisgun under his arm, bade his mother good-by and disappeared down theroad that led to General Gordon's. Dan sat on the bench and watchedhim as long as he remained in sight.
"It's a heap easier to have a feller to 'arn your money fur you norit is to 'arn it yourself," thought Dan. "Here's Dave a toilin' an' aslavin' fur them hundred an' fifty dollars, an' when he gets 'em,they'll go plump into pap's pocket an' mine, an' he'll never see nogood of 'em at all. I'll have ten dollars in my pocket this verynight. It's 'most too frosty to go slashin' round through the bushesnow, so I'll wait till the sun gets a little higher, then I'll goarter that pinter."
David kept on down the road, until he was out of sight of the cabin,and then he climbed the fence and plunged into a dense thicket ofbriers, through which he made his way with great difficulty,following nearly the same path that Clarence Gordon followed on themorning he went through there to release his cousin Don from thepotato-cellar. Reaching the woods at last, he took a straight coursefor Bruin's Island, and half an hour's rapid walking brought himwithin sight of it.
David's first care was to satisfy himself that it was a man and not abear that Don's hounds had driven off the island; and in order to setall his doubts on this point at rest, he looked for the footprintswhich the man or animal must have made when he left the water andclimbed the bank. David found the tracks after a few minutes' search,and a single glance at them confirmed his suspicions. They were madeby a barefooted man, and that man must have been Godfrey Evans, forthere was no one else in the settlement, that he knew of, who was sovery anxious to escape observation that he was willing to swim abayou on a cold day.
"I was right," said David to himself, feeling grieved and mortifiedwhen he remembered that his father had been hunted like a wildanimal. "He is somewhere about here, and if I find him, I shall findthe pointer with him. There he is now!"
The sharp crack of a rifle rang through the woods at that moment, andDavid scrambled up the bank and hurried away in the direction fromwhich it sounded. He knew it was his father's gun (those who areexperienced in such matters will tell you that there is as muchdifference in the reports of rifles as there is in the sound of thehuman voice), even before he received the proof that came a momentlater. Scarcely had the report died away when he heard an impatientyelp just in front of him, and that he also recognised. It wasuttered by Dandy. Godfrey was probably out hunting for his breakfast,and the pointer, excited by the report of the gun, was complainingbecause he was tied up in the camp and left behind. This was the wayDavid explained the situation to himself, and the sequel proved thathe was right.
After running through the bushes for a short distance, David camewithin sight of a little cloud of smoke, which ascended from a hollowjust in advance of him. A few steps more brought him within sight ofthe camp, and the first object his eyes rested upon was Don Gordon'spointer, which was tied to a sapling near a little bark lean-to,something like the one Godfrey occupied while he was living on theisland. The animal, hearing his approach, advanced to meet him as faras the length of his rope would allow, and stood wagging his tailwith every demonstration of joy.
"I've saved Don ten dollars," thought David, as he pulled out hisknife and cut the rope, "and I have kept Dan and father from playinga most contemptible trick upon one who would be a good friend tothem, if they would only let him."
David had taken no pains to approach his father's camp without beingdiscovered. He knew he was in the right, and he intended to be openand above board in everything he did. He expected to meet his fatherface to face, and he was ready to use every argument he could thinkof to induce him to surrender the pointer, that is, if the animalshould be found in his possession. If arguments and entreatiesfailed, he was prepared to use other means, although he knew that byso doing he would bring certain punishment upon himself. Veryfortunately, however, he chanced to reach the camp during hisfather's absence, and all he had to do was to liberate the pointerand go home with him.
"I'm glad it happened just as it did," thought David, drawing a longbreath of relief; "I don't want to get into trouble with father, forI have seen him angry too many times. If he should catch me here nowI believe he'd half kill me."
"Halloo,
Dannie! What brung you up here so 'arly, an' whar be yougoin' with the dog?"
David's heart seemed to stop beating, and his old single-barrel grewso heavy that he could scarcely sustain its weight. His first impulsewas to take to his heels, but the unexpected sound of the familiarvoice seemed to have deprived him of all power of motion. He didmanage, however, to turn his head and look in the direction fromwhich the voice sounded, and saw his father standing a little wayoff, with his rifle on his shoulder and a squirrel in his hand.
"Dave!" exclaimed the latter, so surprised that he could scarcelyspeak.
"Yes, it's Dave," replied the boy, who saw that the battle for whichhe had prepared himself was likely to come off after all.
"What business you got up here, an' how come you by that pinter pup?"demanded Godfrey.
"My business up here was to get the dog. I found him in your camp,and I cut him loose because I have a better right to him than youhave."
"Wal, we'll see 'bout that thar," returned Godfrey, throwing down hissquirrel and leaning his rifle against the nearest tree. David's facegrew pale, for he knew what was coming now. His father's next movewould be to reach for a hickory.
"Who told you I was up here?" demanded Godfrey, and David'suneasiness increased when he saw that his father was running his eyesover the bushes nearest him. He was picking out a good stout switch.
"No one told me," answered David.
"Then how did you know whar I was?"
"I was up here with Don and Bert on the day you swam the bayou, and Isaw you just after you had climbed the bank and were dodging into thebushes."
"Don't you think you was a very grateful an' dutiful' son to huntyour poor ole pap outen a good hidin'-place an' make him take to thewater like a hounded deer, in this cold weather too, an' my rheumatizso bad?" asked Godfrey, angrily. "Who told you the pinter was here?"
"Nobody. I just guessed at it."
"Wal, what be you goin' to do with him, now you got him?"
"I'm going to take him back to his master and save him ten dollars."
"Ten dollars!" repeated Godfrey. "Is that what he's goin' to give toget him back? Now, Dave," and here Godfrey pulled out thehunting-knife which he always carried in a sheath attached to hisbullet-pouch, and cut down the switch he had selected, "you jest takethat thar pinter dog back whar you got him an' tie him up thar; youhear me?"
"I do, but I'll hold fast to the dog. You and Dan have swindled Donout of enough money already; and now I'll tell you what's a fact----"
David did not finish the sentence. He saw his father dash his hatupon the ground, and knowing what was coming, he faced about and tookto his heels.