CHAPTER VI.
BRUIN'S ISLAND.
"That's a purty way he's got of doin' business, I do think. He's atrifle the meanest feller I ever seed, Dave is, an' if I don't payhim fur it afore he's a great many weeks older, I'll just play myselfout a tryin'. If me an' him works together we kin get them fiftydollars as easy as fallin' off a log; but he can't arn 'em byhisself, an' he shan't, nuther."
This was the way Dan Evans talked to himself, as he trudged throughthe woods with his rifle on his shoulder, after his unsuccessfulattempt to overhear what passed between his brother and Don and BertGordon; or, rather, after his failure to find out what it was thatbrought Don and Bert to the cabin. He _did_ overhear what passedbetween them, but he did not learn anything by it. Of course thatmade him angry. A good many things had happened that day to make himangry, and he had gone off in the woods by himself to think and planvengeance.
"Bein' the man of the house I've got more right to them fifty dollarsnor Dave has," thought Dan, "an' if he don't give me half of 'em, heshan't see a cent of 'em hisself. Wouldn't I look nice loafin' aroundin these yere clothes while Dave was dressed up like a gentleman an'takin' his ease? I'll bust up them traps of his'n faster'n he kinmake 'em. I'll show him that I'm the boss of this house now thatpap's away, no matter if them Gordon fellers is a backin' on him up.I've larned a heap by listenin'. I heard Dave tell the ole woman thathe's goin' to make three dollars a dozen outen them quail. I didn'tlarn nothing this arternoon, howsomever. Them fellers must a seed melookin' through the cracks, kase they didn't tell him what they wasagoin' to tell him when they fust come up to the fence."
Dan walked about for an hour or more, talking in this way to himself.The squirrels frisked and barked all around him, but he did not seemto hear them. He was so busy thinking over his troubles that hescarcely knew where he was going, until at last he found himselfstanding on the banks of a sluggish bayou that ran through the swamp.The stream was wide and deep, and near the middle of it and oppositethe spot where Dan stood, was a little island thickly covered withbriers and cane. It was known among the settlers as Bruin's Island.Dan knew the place well. Many a fine string of goggle-eyes had hecaught at the foot of the huge sycamore which grew at the lower endof the island, and leaned over the water until its long branchesalmost touched the trees on the main shore, and it was here that hehad trapped his first beaver. More than that, the island had been aplace of refuge for his father during the war. He retreated to it onthe night the levee was blown up by the Union soldiers, and spent themost of his time there until all danger of capture was past.
When Dan appeared upon the bank of the bayou a dark object, which wascrouching at the water's edge near the foot of the sycamore, suddenlysprang up and glided into the bushes out of sight. Its movements werequick and noiseless, but still they did not escape the notice of Dan,who dropped on the instant and hid behind a fallen log that happenedto be close at hand. He did not have time to take a good look at theobject, but he saw enough of it to frighten him thoroughly. He thrusthis cocked rifle cautiously over the log, directing the muzzle towardthe sycamore, but his hand was unsteady and his face was as white asa sheet.
"Looked to me like a man," thought Dan, trembling in every limb, "butin course it couldn't be; so it's one of them haunts what lives inthe General's lane."
Dan kept his gaze directed across the bayou, and could scarcelyrestrain himself from jumping up and taking to his heels when he sawa head, covered with a torn and faded hat, raised slowly andcautiously above the leaning trunk of the sycamore. It remainedmotionless for a moment and Dan's eyes were sharp enough to see thatthere was a face below the hat--a tanned and weather-beaten face, thelower portion of which was concealed by thick, bushy whiskers. As Danlooked his eyes began to dilate, his mouth came open, and the butt ofhis rifle was gradually lowered until the muzzle pointed toward theclouds. He was sure he saw something familiar about the face, but thesight of it was most unexpected, and so was the sound of the voicewhich reached his ears a moment later.
"Dannie!" came the hail, in subdued tones, as if the speaker wereafraid of being overheard by some one besides the boy whom he wasaddressing.
"Pap!" cried Dan.
Dan Recognizes his Father.]
As he spoke he arose from his concealment, and the man on the otherside of the bayou--Dan was pretty certain now that it was aman--stepped out into view, disclosing the well-known form andfeatures of Godfrey Evans. Dan could hardly believe his eyes, andeven Godfrey seemed a little doubtful.
"Is that you, Dannie?" asked the latter.
"You're just a shoutin'," was the reply.
"Nobody ain't thar with you, I reckon," said Godfrey.
"No, I'm all by myself. But be you sartin that's you, pap?"
"In course I am, an' I've been a waitin' an' a watchin' fur yer. I'llbring you over. You're an ongrateful an' ondutiful boy to leave yourpoor ole pap, what's fit the Yankees an' worked so hard to bring youup like a gentleman's son had oughter be brung up, out here in thecane so long all by hisself."
"Why, pap, I didn't know you was here," said Dan.
Godfrey walked briskly along the shore until he reached a littlethicket of bushes into which he plunged out of sight. He appearedagain almost immediately, dragging behind him a small lead-coloredcanoe which Dan recognized the moment he saw it. It was Don Gordon'scanoe, the one he used to pick up his dead and wounded ducks when hewas shooting over his decoys. It was a beautiful little craft, andDan had often wished that he could call it his own. It was one thingthat made him hate Don and Bert so cordially, and he had often toldhimself that when he was ready to carry out the threats he had sooften made, that canoe should be one of the first things to suffer.The brothers took altogether too much pleasure in it, and he wouldn'thave them rowing about the lake enjoying themselves while he wasobliged to stay ashore. The sight of it satisfied him that the man onthe opposite bank was his father, and nobody else. If he had been a"haunt" he would not have needed a canoe to carry him across thebayou.
Having placed the canoe in the water Godfrey went back into the caneafter the oars--the little craft was provided with rowlocks andpropelled by oars instead of paddles--and in a few seconds more hewas on Dan's side of the bayou. The moment the canoe touched the bankhe sprang out, and if one might judge by the cordial manner in whichfather and son greeted each other, they were glad to meet again.
"I didn't never expect to feel your grip no more, pap," said Dan, whowas the first to speak, "an' I'm ridikilis proud to see you with thisyere dug-out. How came you by it, and whar did you git it?"
"I jest took it an' welcome," answered Godfrey. "I wasn't goin' toswim over to the island every time I wanted to go there, was I?"
"In course not. I'm scandalous glad you tuk it; an' now I'll have aride in it, an' no thanks to Don Gordon nuther. Been a livin' hereever since you've been gone?" added Dan, as he stepped into the boatand picked up the oars.
"Yes, an' I've been a lookin' fur you every day. Seems to me youmight a knowed where to find me, kase here's whar I hung out when theYanks was in the country. Hear anything about me, in the settlement?"
"Yes, lots. Silas Jones has done been to Dave fur them eight dollarsyou owe him."
"Much good may they do him, when he gets 'em," said Godfrey, snappinghis fingers in the air.
"Dave's goin' to pay the bill," added Dan. "I done heard him say so."
"The ongrateful an' ondutiful scamp!" exclaimed Godfrey. "If he's gotthat much money, why don't he give it to me, like he had oughter do?I need it more'n Silas does. Hear anything else, Dannie?"
"Yes; General Gordon says, why don't you come home an' go 'haveyourself? Nobody wouldn't pester you."
"Does you see anything green in these yere eyes?" asked Godfrey,looking steadily at Dan. "That would do to tell some folks, but a manwhat's fit the Yanks ain't so easy fooled. I'm safe here, an' hereI'll stay, till----Hear anything else, Dannie--anything 'bout themtwo city chaps, Clarence an' Marsh Gordon?"
"O, they'v
e gone home long ago."
"You didn't hear nothing about them gettin' into a furse afore theywent, did you?"
"Course I have. Everybody knows that you an' Clarence thought Don wasole Jordan an' shet him up in the tater-hole."
"An' sarved him right, too," exclaimed Godfrey. "I reckon he's wellpaid fur cheatin' me outen that chance of making eighty thousanddollars. I heard Clarence was robbed afore he went away," addedGodfrey, at the same time turning away his head and looking at Danout of the corner of his eyes.
"I didn't hear nothing about that," said Dan.
Godfrey drew a long breath of relief. Ever since he took up his abodeon the island he had been torturing himself with the belief that therobbery of which he was guilty was the talk of the settlement, andthat he would be arrested for at if he should ever show himself atthe landing again. He breathed much easier to know that his fears onthis score were groundless.
"Hear anything else, Dannie?" asked Godfrey, and his voice was socheerful and animated that the boy looked at him in amazement."What's Dave an' the ole woman doin'?"
"That thar Dave is goin' to git rich, dog-gone it," replied Dan, ingreat disgust. "He got a letter from some feller up North thismornin' tellin' him if he would trap fifty dozen live quail fur him,he'd pay him so't he could make three dollars a dozen on 'em. I seedDon give him the letter, an' I heard 'em a talkin' and a laughin'about it."
"That's what makes me 'spise them Gordons so," said Godfrey, slappingthe side of the canoe with his open hand. "They're all the time aboostin' Dave, an' me and you could starve fur all they keer. Nowjump out, an' we'll go up to my house an' talk about it. We'll leavethe boat here, so't it will be handy when you want to go back."
As Godfrey spoke the bow of the canoe ran deep into the soft mudwhich formed the beach on that side of the island, and the father andson sprang out. Godfrey led the way along a narrow, winding pathwhich ran through the cane, and after a few minutes walking usheredDan into an open space in the centre of the island. Here stood thelittle bark lean-to that he called his house. The cane had beencleared away from a spot about fifteen feet square, and piled uparound the outside, so that it looked like a little breastwork.
The lean-to was not a very imposing structure--Godfrey would muchrather sit in the sun and smoke his pipe then expend any of hisstrength in providing for his comfort--but it was large enough toshelter one man, and with a few more pieces of bark on the roof and aroaring fire in front, it might have been made a very pleasant andinviting camp. Just now, however, it looked cheerless enough. Therewas a little armful of leaves under the roof of the lean-to and therewas a block of wood beside the fire-place, the position of which waspointed out by a bed of ashes and cinders. The leaves served for abed and the block of wood for a chair; and they were all the"furniture" that was to be seen about the camp. But Godfrey was verywell satisfied with his surroundings and Dan was delighted with them.It must be splendid, he thought, to live there all by one's self withnothing to worry over and no work to do. It was not even necessarythat Godfrey should chop wood for the fire, for the upper end of theisland was covered with broken logs and branches, and five minutes'work every morning would suffice to provide him with all the fuel hewould be likely to burn during the day.
"What a nice place you've got here, pap!" said Dan, when he had takena hurried survey of the camp.
"I reckon it's about right," replied Godfrey. "I had this fur ahidin' place while the Yanks was a scoutin' about through thecountry, an' I come here now kase nobody won't think of lookin' furme so nigh the settlement. An' they won't stumble onto me afore Iknow it, nuther. They can't git to me if they come afoot kase thebayou'll stop 'em; an' I never heard of nobody coming up here in aboat. Nothing bothers me 'ceptin' a bar. He comes over every nightto feed on the beech-nuts an' acorns, an' some night he'll come furthe last time. I'll jest knock him over, and then I'll have meatenough to last me a month. I build my fire and do my cookin' atnight, so't nobody can't see the smoke, an' that's what frightenedthe bar away afore I could shoot him."
"I've a notion to come here an' live with you, pap," said Dan.
"'Twon't be safe," replied his father, quickly. "If you're missin'from home folks might begin to hunt fur us, an' that's somethin' Idon't want 'em to do. 'Sides you must stay in the settlement an' helpme. I shall need things from the store now an' then, an' as I can'tgo and git 'em myself, you'll have to git 'em fur me. But what wasyou sayin' about Dave?" asked Godfrey, throwing himself down on oneof the piles of cane and motioning to Dan to occupy the block ofwood.
"I was a sayin' that he's a little the meanest feller I ever seed,"replied Dan, "an' don't you say so too, pap? Kase why, he's goin' togit fifty dollars fur them quail, an' he's goin' to give the moneyall to the ole woman."
"An' leave me to freeze an' starve out here in the cane?" exclaimedGodfrey, with a great show of indignation. "Not by no means he won't.If he don't mind what he's about we'll take the hul on it, Dan, mean' you will."
"_He_ won't get none on it, you kin bet high on that," said Dan. "Itold him I was goin' agin him, an' so I am. I'll bust his traps asfast as I kin find 'em, an' I won't do nothin' but hunt fur 'em, dayan' night."
"Now, haint you got no sense at all?" cried his father, so fiercelythat Dan jumped up and turned his face toward the path, as if he wereon the point of taking to his heels.
"Wal, I wanted to go pardners with him an' he wouldn't le' me,"protested Dan.
"What's the odds? Set down thar an' listen while somebody what knowssomethin' talks to you. What odds does it make to you if he won't gopardners with you?"
"Kase I want some of the money; that's the odds it makes to me."
"Wal, you kin have it, an' you needn't do no work, nuther. I'm Dave'spap an' your'n too, an' knows what's best fur all of us. You jestkeep still an' let Dave go on an' ketch the birds; an' when he'sketched 'em an' got the money in his pocket, then I'll tell you whatelse to do. Le' me see: fifty dozen birds at three dollars a dozen!That's--that's jest----"
Godfrey straightened up, locked his fingers together, rested hiselbows on his knees and looked down at the pile of ashes in thefire-place.
"It's a heap of money, the fust thing you know," said Dan. "It'sfifty dollars. Dave told me so."
"Fifty gran'mothers!" exclaimed Godfrey. "Dave done said that jest tomake a fule of you. It would be fifty dollars if he got only a dollara dozen. If he got two it would be a hundred dollars, an' if he gotthree, it would be----"
Godfrey stopped, believing that he must have made a mistakesomewhere, and stared at Dan as if he were utterly bewildered. Danreturned the stare with interest. "A hundred dollars!" he repeated,slowly. "That thar Dave of our'n goin' to make a hundred dollars allby hisself! Some on it's mine."
"It's more'n that, Dannie," said Godfrey, who, as soon as he couldsettle his mind to the task, went over his calculations again, addingthe astounding statement--
"An' if he gets three dollars a dozen, he'll get a hundred an' fiftydollars for the lot."
Dan's astonishment was so great that for a few seconds he could notspeak, and even his father looked puzzled and amazed. He was certainthat he had made no mistake in his mental arithmetic this time, andthe magnitude of David's prospective earnings fairly staggered him.It made him angry to think of it.
"The idee of that triflin' leetle Dave's makin' so much money," heexclaimed, in great disgust; "an' here's me, who has worked an'slaved fur a hul lifetime, an' I've got jest twenty dollars."
"Eh?" cried Dan.
Godfrey was frightened at what he had said, but he could not recallit without exciting Dan's suspicions; so he put on a bold face andcontinued:--
"Yes, I've got that much, an' I worked hard fur it, too. But ahundred an' fifty dollars! We must have that when it's 'arned,Dannie."
"The hul on it?"
"Every cent. I'm Dave's pap, an' the law gives me the right to his'arnin's, an' yours, too, until you's both twenty-one years ole. Now,Dannie, I've done a power of hard thinkin' since I've been
here onthis island, an' I've got some idees in my head that will make youlook wild when you hear 'em. I didn't know jest how to carry 'em outafore, but I do now. These yere hundred an' fifty dollars will keepus movin' till we kin find them eighty thousand."
"Be you goin' to look fur them agin, pap?"
"No, I hain't, but you be."
"Not much, I ain't," replied Dan, emphatically.
"Who's to do it, then?" demanded his father. "I can't, kase I'mafeared to go into the settlement even at night. You hain't goin' togive up the money, be you? Then what'll become of your circus-hoss,an' your painted boats, an' your fine guns what break in two in themiddle?"
"I don't keer," answered Dan, doggedly. "I wouldn't go into thattater-patch alone, arter dark; if I knowed it was chuck full ofyaller gold an' silver pieces."
The savage scowl that settled on Godfrey's face, as he listened tothese words, brought Dan to his feet again in great haste. The manwas fully as angry as he looked, and it is possible he might havesaid or done something not altogether to Dan's liking, had it notbeen for an unlooked-for interruption that occurred just then.Godfrey had raised his hand in the air to give emphasis to someremark he was about to make, when he was checked by a slightsplashing in the water, accompanied by the measured clatter of oars,as they were moved back and forth in the row-locks. This was followedby a clear, ringing laugh, which Godfrey and his son could haverecognized anywhere, and a cheery voice said:--
"I'm getting tired. It is time for me to stop and rest when I beginto catch crabs."
There was a boat in the bayou, and Don and Bert Gordon were in it.They were so close at hand, too, that flight was impossible.
"I don't think there's much difference between riding on horsebackand rowing in a boat, as far as the work is concerned," said the samevoice. "I've done about all I can do to-day. There don't seem to beany ducks in the bayou; so we'll stop here and take a breathing spellbefore we go back."
"Is thar any place in the wide world a feller could crawl intowithout bein' pestered by them two oneasy chaps?" whispered Dan,jumping up from his block of wood and looking all around, as if hewere seeking a way of escape.
"Not a word out of you," replied Godfrey, shaking his fist at hisson.
Following Godfrey's example, Dan threw himself behind one of thepiles of cane, and the two held their breath and listened.