CHAPTER XIII

HOW JACK RESCUED LION, BUT MISSED THE TREASURE.

THE deacon’s folks had not got home from meeting when Jack reached the house; but he saw them coming,—Mr. Chatford, Mr. and Mrs. Pipkin, and Phin, in the old one-horse wagon. He met them at the gate, and hurriedly told his story as they were driving on to the house.

“Boy, you’re crazy!” said the incredulous deacon.

“No, I ain’t! Do come quick! They won’t wait long, and then Peternot will take the money!”

“Well, well,—I suppose I’ll go,—pretty work for Sunday, I should say!”

“It was wrong,—I ought to have told you all about it before,” said Jack, “but I thought I was doing the best thing; I didn’t want anybody to know whose land I found the money on, so _he_ couldn’t claim it.”

“Hurrah! I’ll go too!” cried Phin. “You take care of the old mare, Phi!”

“If it’s the Huswick boys, I guess I better go and see fair play,” remarked Mr. Pipkin; and he followed with the deacon, while Phin ran ahead with Jack.

The two boys reached the pasture; and now Jack, outstripping his companion, darted forward to a certain low length of fence, leaped upon it, and peered with a wild and anxious gaze into the woods.

“They’re gone! they’re gone!” he shrieked despairingly; and, tumbling over the rails, he ran through the bushes to the log.

_They_ were gone indeed; but there was his basket, just where he had left it, covered with his frock. He flew to it, and stripped off the covering; and there Phin, as he came up, found him staring in utter consternation and dismay at a peck of melon rinds and rotten wood.

“Is that yer money?” said Phin. “I don’t believe there was any: you’ve been fooling us!”

Jack threw out the rubbish, with the frantic thought that the coin must still be there.

“They’ve robbed me!” he sobbed out, when the bottom of the basket was reached and showed nothing but rinds and fragments of rotten wood.

A whining sound came to his ear; and just then Phin said, “O, just look! what’s the matter with your dog?” Jack looked, and there, half hidden by the bushes, was Lion hanging by the hips from the forked limb of the log. He sprang to rescue him. The whiplash was tied in a tight knot, and out came the boy’s knife to cut it.

This part of the fun Hod Huswick, in his ambush, had not anticipated, and did not relish.

“Here! that’s my whiplash! don’t ye cut it!” he cried; and from the bushes leaped the bare legs with their flapping linen, to the no little astonishment of Phineas Chatford.

“I’ll cut it, and you too!” The whiplash was severed, and Jack, knife in hand, turned upon Hod. “What have you done with my money?”

“Hain’t done nothin’ with ’t,—I hain’t teched it.”

“Who has?”

“They took it, and stole my breeches to carry it off in, ’cause they said they’d promised you not to take the basket. They stole my whiplash, too, fer to tie the dog with; I couldn’t help myself; an’ now you’ve cut it!”

“Where’ve they gone?”

“To Peternot’s; he hired ’em to help him carry the money home.”

Then Jack saw how completely he had been outwitted and betrayed. He did not rave at his ill-luck; but to Mr. Chatford, who now approached with Mr. Pipkin, he told what had happened, and in a tone of unnatural calmness appealed to him for redress. “For if you can’t do anything for me,” he said, turning his pale face and tearless eyes at the empty basket, “I shall get my pay out of the old squire some way, if I live! Tell him he’d better look out!”

“There, there!” said the deacon, soothingly. “Don’t make any foolish threats. I think it’s most unwarrantable conduct on Peternot’s part, and I’ll see him about it.”

“Go over there right now! why can’t ye?”

“My boy, remember it’s Sunday.”

“_He_ didn’t remember it was Sunday when he got my money away!” said Jack.

“Very true,” said the deacon. “But nothing will be gained by going to him now. To-morrow I’ll see about it.”

“To-morrow!” echoed Jack, with a fierce laugh.

“Burn his house down, I would!” whispered Phin, who, notwithstanding his profession of sympathy, felt, I regret to say, a secret gratification at Jack’s loss.

“Where was ’t ye found the money, Jack?” Mr. Pipkin inquired.

Jack led the way, and all went to look at the hollow log. While they were standing about it Hod’s brothers returned. Hod ran for his trousers, but Cub, who was about to fling them at him, changed his mind and tossed them into a tree, where they lodged.

“That’s for spilin’ the melons,” said he, regarding the heap on the ground.

Hod caught up a club to throw at his amiable brother, but wisely changed his mind, and sent the missile up into the tree, in the hope of bringing down his breeches. As they did not come at the first fire, he sent club after club up after them, sputtering all the while with indignation; while his brothers walked loungingly on to the hollow log.

Jack glared at them with deep and sullen hate, without deigning to speak; but the good deacon said, “Seems to me, fellows, you’ve played off a despicable trick on this poor boy here! You ought to have protected him in his rights; but instead of that you’ve helped rob him.”

“Not much of a robbery, I guess, deacon,” replied Dock, good-naturedly. “’Twas nothin’ but a lot o’ bogus coin, no use to him nor to anybody.”

“You’re mistaken,” replied the ingenuous Chatford, letting out a secret which Jack had thought it wise to keep. “The coin was genuine; at least I’ve good reason to think so.” And he told why.

The Huswick boys looked at each other. “If that’s the case, we didn’t git so much the start of the squire as we thought we did!” muttered Dock. “On the contrary, he’s got the start of us! What do ye say, Hank?”

“It’s too late now to say anything about it; but hanged if I wouldn’t ’a’ swore the silver was no silver! I thought ’twas nothin’ but the old man’s avariciousness made him think it might be good. We let him off too easy!” And Hank appeared more than half minded to go back and make better terms with the squire.

“They hung Lion up by the heels!” said Phin, getting behind his father, for he had a chronic dread of the Huswick tribe.

“I’d tie you up by the heels too,” said Cub, with a peculiar smile, “if ’t wa’n’t Sunday!”

Whereupon Mr. Pipkin, who had been on the point of expressing an opinion, concluded to remain silent; the ruffians _might_ forget what day it was!

“Well, come, boys; I don’t see that we can do anything,” said the deacon. “We may as well go home.”

They walked back past the tree which Hod, in his imperfect attire, was still clubbing for the obstinate trousers, getting mad at them finally, and pelting them as if they were to blame for sitting there so quietly on the limb, in spite of him. Mr. Pipkin, out of respect to Jack’s grief, took up the basket and frock and carried them; while Jack lingered behind with Lion, pondering dark thoughts.

“Come, boy! you’d better go home,” said Mr. Chatford, coaxingly. “Don’t be down-hearted. It’ll turn out right or be made up to you somehow, if you meet it in the right spirit, I’m confident.”

“I’ll be there pretty soon,—I can’t go just yet,” replied Jack, dissatisfied with everybody and everything; and he wandered off by himself in the woods, brooding upon his wrongs.