Chapter 4

MORE BAD NEWS.

David's feelings, as he stood there in the road, gazing after the retreating horseman, were by no means of the most pleasant nature. He was naturally a cheerful, light-hearted boy, and he would not look on the dark side of things if he could help it. But he couldn't help it now. Here was more trouble. If he had been disposed to give up in despair when he found that his brother was working against him, he had more reason to be discouraged when he learned that a new enemy had suddenly appeared, and from a most unexpected quarter, too. That was the way he looked at the matter at first; but after a little reflection, he felt more like defying Dan and Lester both. What business had either of them to interfere with his arrangements, and say that he should not earn an honest dollar to give his mother, if he could? None whatever, and he would succeed in spite of them. He would get that grocery bill off his hands the first thing, and when he was square with the world, he would go to work in earnest and outwit all his foes, no matter how numerous or how smart they might be. He would tell Don all about it and be governed by his advice.

Having come to this determination, David once more, turned his face toward the General's house. A few minutes' rapid walking brought him to the barn and there he found the boy he wanted to see. The brothers had just returned from a short ride--Don was not yet strong enough to stand his usual amount of exercise--and having turned the ponies over to the hostler, were on the point of starting for the house, when David came in.

"Halloo, Dave!" exclaimed Don, who was always the first to greet him. "Traps all built?"

"Not yet," answered David, trying to look as cheerful as usual.

"You have plenty of nails and timber, I suppose. If not come straight to us. It will never do to let this thing fall through for want of a little capital to go on," said Don, who was as much interested in David's success as though he expected to share in the profits of the enterprise.

"I have everything I want in the way of nails and boards," replied David, "but I--you know--may I see you just a minute, Don?"

"Of course you may, or two or three minutes if you wish. Come on, Bert. I have no secrets from my brother, _now_," said Don with a laugh. "I kept one thing secret from him and got myself into trouble by it. If I had told him of it perhaps he would have made me behave myself. Now what is it?" he added, when the three had drawn up in one corner of the barn, out of earshot of the hostler.

David was silent. He had made up his mind just what he wanted to say to Don, but Lester Brigham's sudden appearance and the threats he had made had scattered all his ideas, and he could not utter a word.

"Speak up," said Bert encouragingly. "You need not hesitate to talk freely to us. But what's the matter with you? You look as though you were troubled about something."

"I am troubled about a good many things," said David, speaking now after a desperate effort. "In the first place, there are two fellows here who say I shan't trap any birds."

"Who are they?" demanded Don, surprised and indignant.

"My brother Dan is one of them."

"Whew!" whistled Don, opening his eyes and looking at Bert.

"I didn't want him to know anything about it," continued David, "for I was certain that he would make me trouble; but he found it out by listening while I was talking about it, and wanted to join in with me. I told him I didn't want him, and he said I shouldn't catch any birds."

"Did he say what he would do to prevent it?" asked Bert.

"O, it's easy enough to tell what he will do," exclaimed Don. "He'll steal or break the traps and kill the quails. There are plenty of ways in which he can trouble us, if he makes up his mind to it."

"Who is the other?" asked Bert.

"Lester Brigham."

Don whistled again, and then looked angry.

"When did you see him, and what did he have to say about it?" he asked. "Has he any reason to hold a grudge against you?"

"I didn't know that he had until I met him in the road this morning. He says he won't have me trapping quails and sending them off North, because it will make them scarce here. He says he is going to get up a Sportsman's Club among the fellows, and then he will keep pot-hunters like me where we belong."

"Oho!" exclaimed Bert. "It seems to me that he is taking a good deal upon himself."

"That is what he has done ever since he has been here, and that's why there are so many boys in the settlement who don't like him," said Don. "But he mustn't meddle with this business. He can't come down here into a country that is almost a wilderness and manage matters as they do up North. Father told me the other day that in some states they have laws to protect game, and it is right that they should have, for there are so many hunters that if they were not restrained they would kill all the birds and animals in a single season. The most of the hunters live in the city, and when they get out with their guns they crack away at everything they see; and if they happen to kill a doe with a fawn at her side, or a quail with a brood of chicks, it makes no difference to them. Sportsman's Clubs are of some _use_ there, but we have no need of them in this country."

"He wants the quails left here, so that he can shoot them over his dog," continued David.

"O, he does! When is he going to begin? He has been here more than a year, and nobody has ever heard of his killing a quail yet. He must keep his fingers out of this pie. We can't put up with any interference from him. Any more bad news?" added Don, seeing that David's face had not yet wholly cleared up.

"Yes, there is," replied the latter, speaking rapidly, for fear that his courage might desert him again. "Just after you left me this morning, Silas Jones rode up and dunned me for eight dollars that father owes him."

"Why, you have nothing to do with that," said Bert.

"Nothing whatever," chimed in Don. "You tell Mr. Jones that if he wants his money he had better hunt up your father and ask him for it. You don't owe him anything, do you?"

"No, but he says that if I don't settle that bill, he'll never let me have a thing at his store again unless I have the money in my hand to pay for it. I haven't a cent of my own, and I thought if you could let me have the ten dollars you promised me for breaking the pointer, I should be much obliged to you."

"If I would do what?" asked Don, in amazement.

"Why, David," said Bert, "the money was all paid to you in less than twenty-four hours after the dog was placed in your keeping."

"Paid to me?" gasped David.

"Well, no, not to you, but to your order."

"To my order!" repeated the boy, who began to think he was dreaming.

"Yes, to your order," said Don. "We left the pointer in your hands at noon, while you were at dinner. In less than an hour afterward, Dan came over and said that you wanted five dollars to buy a dress for your mother, and Bert gave him the money. The next forenoon your father met me at the landing and told me you wanted the other five to buy some medicine for your mother, who was ill with the ague, and I gave it to him, and I just know I made a mess of it," added Don, bringing his hands together with a loud slap.

It was plain from the looks of David's face that he had. The boy listened with eyes wide open, his under jaw dropping down and his face growing pale, as the duplicity of which his father and brother had been guilty was gradually made plain to him, and when at last his mind grasped the full import of Don's words, he covered his face with his hands and cried aloud. Don and Bert looked at him in surprise, and then turned and looked at each other. They who had never wanted for the necessities, and who had never but once, and that was during the war, lacked the luxuries of life, could not understand why his grief should be so overwhelming; but they could understand that they had been deceived, and even the gentle-spirited Bert was indignant over it. The impulsive Don could scarcely restrain himself. He walked angrily up and down the floor, thrashing his boots with his riding-whip and cracking it in the air so viciously that the ponies danced about in their stalls.

"Dave," said Bert, at length, "are we to understand that your father and brother came to us and got that money without any authority from you?"

"That's just what they did," sobbed David.

"And you never saw a cent of it?"

"Not one cent, or mother either."

"Well, what of it?" exclaimed Don. "Brace up and be a man, Dave. A ten-dollar bill is not an everlasting fortune."

"I know it isn't much to you, but it is a good deal to me. You don't know what the loss of it means. It means corn-bread and butter-milk for breakfast, dinner and supper."

"Well, what of that?" said Don, again. "I have eaten more than one dinner at the Gayoso House, in Memphis--and it is one of the best hotels in the country--when corn-bread and butter-milk were down in the bill of fare as part of the dessert."

"Well, if all the folks who stop at that hotel had to live on it, as we do, they would call for something else," replied David. "How am I to settle Silas Jones's bill, I'd like to know?"

"Never mind Silas Jones's bill. If he says anything more to you about it, tell him that you don't owe him a cent."

"And how am I to send my quails away? That man said the charges must be paid."

"Ah! that's a more serious matter," said Don, placing his hands on his hips, and looking down at the floor.

"It is all serious to me," said David, brushing the tears from his eyes, "but I'll work through somehow. I'll go home now and think about it, and if I don't earn that money in spite of all my bad luck, it will not be because I don't try."

"That's the way to talk," said Don, giving David an encouraging slap on the back. "That's the sort of spirit I like. Bert and I will see you again, perhaps this afternoon. In the meantime we'll talk the matter over, and if we three fellows are not smart enough to beat the two who are opposing us, we'll know the reason why."

David hurried out of the barn, in order to hide his tears, which every instant threatened to break forth afresh, and Don, turning to the hostler, ordered him to put the saddles on the ponies again. "Father is down in the field," said he, to his brother, "and it may be two or three hours before he will come to the house. I can't wait so long, so we'll ride down there and talk the matter over with him. He hasn't forgotten that he was a boy once himself, and he will tell us just what we ought to do."

The ponies were led out again in a few minutes, and Bert, having assisted his brother into the saddle, mounted his own nag, and the two rode down the lane toward the field. Of course they could talk about only one thing, and that was the ill-luck that seemed to meet their friend David at every turn. The longer Bert thought and talked of the trick that had been played upon himself and his brother, the more indignant he became; while Don, having had time to recover a little of his usual good nature, was more disposed to laugh over it. He declared that it was the sharpest piece of business he had ever heard of, and wondered greatly that Godfrey and Dan, whom he had always believed to be as stupid as so many blocks, should have suddenly exhibited so much shrewdness. Bert declared that it was a wicked swindle; and the earnestness with which he denounced the whole proceeding made Don laugh louder than ever. Of course the latter did not forget that the trick which so highly amused him, had been the means of placing David in a very unpleasant situation, but still he did not think much about that, for he believed that his father would be able to make some suggestions, which, if acted upon, would straighten things out in short order.

"Well, Don, how does it seem, to find yourself in the saddle again? You appear to enjoy the exercise, but Bert doesn't. He looks as though he had lost his last friend."

This was the way General Gordon greeted his boys, when they rode up beside the stump on which he was seated, superintending the negroes who were at work in the field. Bert brightened up at once, but replied that he thought he had good cause to look down-hearted, and with this introduction he went on and told David's story just as the latter had told it to him and his brother. The General listened good-naturedly, as he always did to anything his boys had to tell him, and when Bert ceased speaking, he pulled off a piece of the stump and began to whittle it with his knife. The boys waited for him to say something, but as he did not, Bert continued:

"We came down here to ask you what we ought to do about it, and we want particularly to know your opinion concerning the trick Dan and his father played on us."

"That is easily given," replied the General. "My opinion is that Master Don is just ten dollars out of pocket."

"You don't mean that I must pay it over again?" exclaimed Don.

"No, I don't mean that, because you haven't paid it at all."

"Why, father, I----"

"I understand. Dan made a demand upon Bert, and Bert borrowed five dollars of his mother and gave it to him. Godfrey came to you for the other five, and you gave it to him. David has not yet been paid for breaking the pointer."

"No, sir; but we supposed that his father and brother had authority to ask us for the money."

"You had no right to suppose anything of the kind. You ought to have paid the money into David's own hands, or else satisfied yourselves that he wanted it paid to some one else. Among business men it is customary, in such cases, to send a written order. You must pay David, and this time be sure that he gets the money."

"Whew!" whistled Don, who was very much surprised by this decision. "That will make a big hole in the money I was saving for Christmas; but David needs it more than I do, and besides it belongs to him. What shall we do to Godfrey and Dan? They obtained those ten dollars under false pretences, did they not?"

"I don't know whether a lawyer could make a case out of that or not," said the General, with a laugh. "I am afraid he couldn't, so you will have to stand the loss. Perhaps you will learn something by it."

"I am quite sure that I have learned something already," replied Don. "But now about Dan and Lester. How are we going to keep them from interfering with David?"

"Why, it seems to me that I could hide my traps where they would never think of looking for them, and where I would be sure to catch quails, too. If I thought I couldn't, I would set them all on this plantation, and any one who troubled them would render himself liable for trespass."

"Aha!" exclaimed Don, who caught the idea at once.

"But, in order to throw Dan off the scent entirely, you might have David come up to our shop every day and build his traps there. He will find all the tools he wants, and those shingles we tore off that old corn-crib will answer his purpose better than new ones, because they are old and weather-beaten, and look just like the wood in the forest. When I was a boy, I never had any luck in catching birds in bright new traps. When the birds are caught, he can put them into one of those unoccupied negro cabins and lock them up until he is ready to send them off."

"That's the very idea!" cried Don, gleefully. "We knew that if there was any way out of the difficulty, you would be sure to see it."

The General bowed in acknowledgment of the compliment, and the brothers turned their horses about and rode away. When they reached the barn Don was willing to confess that he was very tired. Riding on horseback is hard work for one who is stiff in every joint and lame all over; but Don could not think of going into the house and taking a rest. He had been a close prisoner there for a whole week, and now that he had taken a breath of fresh air and stirred his sluggish blood with a little exhilarating exercise, he could not bear to go back to his sofa again. He proposed that they should leave their ponies at the barn and go up to David's in the canoe. They would take their guns with them, he said, and after they had paid David his money, they would row a short distance up the bayou, and perhaps they might be fortunate enough to knock over a duck or two for the next day's dinner.

Bert, of course, agreed to the proposition, and went into the shop after the oars belonging to the canoe, while Don went into the house again after the guns. When he came out again he had a breech-loader on each shoulder and David's ten dollars in his pocket. Paying that bill twice did make a big hole in his Christmas money, for it took just half of it.

The brothers walked along the garden path that ran toward the lake, and when Don, who was leading the way, stepped upon the jetty he missed something at once. The canoe was gone. They had not been near the jetty for a week, and the last time they were there the boat was all right. It could not have got away without help, for it was firmly tied to a ring in the jetty by the chain, which served as a painter, and even if that had become loosened the canoe would have remained near its moorings, for there was no current in the lake to carry it from the shore. Beyond a doubt, it had been stolen. Don would not have felt the loss more keenly if the thief had taken his fine sail-boat. The canoe was almost as old as he was, and in it he and Bert had taken their first ride on the lake and captured their first wounded duck.

"It's gone," said Don, after he and Bert had looked all around the lake as far as their eyes could reach, "and that's all there is of it. But we'll not give up our trip. We'll go in the sail-boat."

The sail-boat had been dismantled, and the masts, sails, rudder and everything else belonging to her had been stored in the shop under cover. While Bert was gone after the oars, Don drew the boat up to the jetty, and having stowed the guns away in the stow-sheets, he got in himself and took another survey of the lake to make sure that the canoe was nowhere in sight. It was hard to give it up as lost.

Bert came back in a few minutes, and having shipped the oars shoved off and pulled down the lake. A quarter of an hour afterward they landed on the beach in front of Godfrey's cabin. They found David wandering listlessly about in the back yard with his hands in his pockets; and when he came up to the fence in response to their call, they saw that he had been crying again.

"David," exclaimed Don, putting his hand into his pocket, "we've got news for you that will make you wear a different looking face when you hear it. After you went home, we rode down to see father, and he told us--Eh!" cried Don, turning quickly toward his brother, who just then gave his arm a sly pinch.

"Let me tell it," said Bert. "We'd like to see you at our house this evening about five o'clock; can you come?"

"I reckon I can," answered David. "Was that the good news you wanted to tell me?"

"No--I believe--yes, it was," said Don, who received another fearful pinch on the arm and saw his brother looking at him in a very significant way. "You come up, anyhow."

"We've got some work for you to do up there," said Bert. "It will not pay you much at first, but perhaps you can make something out of it by-and-by. It will keep you busy for two or three weeks, perhaps longer. Will you come?"

David replied that he would, and turned away with an expression of surprise and disappointment on his face. The eager, almost excited manner in which Don greeted him, led him to hope that he had something very pleasant and encouraging to tell, and somehow he couldn't help thinking that his visitors had not said just what they intended to say when they first came up to the fence.

"What in the name of sense and Tom Walker was the matter with you, Bert?" demanded Don, as soon as the two were out of David's hearing. "My arm is all black and blue, I know!"

"I didn't want you to say too much," was Bert's reply, "and I didn't know any other way to stop your talking. There was a listener close by."

"A listener! Who was it?"

"David's brother. Just as you began speaking I happened to look toward the cabin, and saw through the cracks between the logs that the window on the other side was open. Close to one of those cracks, and directly in line with the window, was a head. I knew it was Dan's head the moment I saw it."

"Aha!" exclaimed Don. "He had his trouble for his pains this time, hadn't he? Or, rather, he had the trouble and I had the pain," he added, rubbing his arm.

Bert laughed and said he thought that was about the way the matter stood.