“MORE’N a hundred and sixty-four dollars, an’ it made a wad as big as that thar!” said Dan Evans, looking at his wrist as he hurried through the woods. He opened his eyes and fairly gasped for breath as he thought of it. His ideas of money, as we know, were not very clear, and he was of the opinion that a roll of greenbacks as large as one could conveniently grasp in his hand, must be utterly inexhaustible. “An’ that thar leetle Dave of our’n done made ’em all by trappin’ quails! That’s what I’m goin’ to be now—a trapper! Then won’t I have good clothes, an’ a circus-hoss, an’ a sail-boat, an’ a fish-pole, an’ one of them guns that break in two in the middle? How extonished the folks will be when they see me goin’ to church with a straw hat and shiny boots on!”

This was the way Dan talked to himself, while he was running through the woods toward his father’s camp, after his interview with the planter, which we have recorded in the first chapter. His astonishment was almost unbounded. How glad he was, now that he had followed his father’s instructions, and let David’s traps alone; and how amazed and delighted Godfrey would be when he heard the news!

Dan knew just where to go to find his father. He was still occupying his old camp—the one he made after Don Gordon’s hounds drove him off the island—and thither Dan hurried with all the speed he could command. But still he could not go half fast enough to suit him. It seemed to him that the astounding information he had just received would work some dreadful injury to him if he did not communicate it to his father at once. The nearer he approached the camp the faster he ran; and when, at last, he burst into the presence of his father, who was stretched out beside a blazing fire, enjoying a pipeful of the store-tobacco which Dan had purchased for him a few days before, he was so nearly exhausted that he could scarcely speak; but, after a good many questions, and a few threats, from the impatient Godfrey, he managed to repeat the substance of his conversation with the planter. His father listened with mouth and eyes wide open, and when, at last, he began to comprehend the matter, he jumped to his feet, and danced about like one demented.

“Whoop!” yelled Godfrey, so loudly that the woods rang again. “More’n a hundred an’ sixty dollars! No more toilin’, an’ workin’, an’ slavin’ for me. My fort’n’s made.”

“Your’n!” repeated Dan.

“Mine an’ your’n, Dannie,” replied Godfrey, seizing his son’s hand, and giving it a grip and a shake that made Dan writhe with pain. “Yer a good boy, Dannie. Ye hain’t like that thar mean, sneakin’ Dave, who goes off an’ ’arns a pocketful of greenbacks, and gives ’em all to his mam, and none to his pap, but ye’ve stuck by me, an’ been a dootiful son, and now ye’ll see what I’ll do by ye!”

“What be ye goin’ to do, pap?” asked Dan.

“I’m goin’ to have them thar greenbacks afore I sleep this night,” was Godfrey’s decided reply. “The money’s mine. It don’t b’long to Dave, not by no means, ’kase he’s got no rights in law. I’m his pap, an’ kin take his ’arnin’s till he’s twenty-one years old, an’ nobody can’t say nothing to me.”

“If it hadn’t been for me ye wouldn’t a knowed nothing ’bout this money, pap,” said Dan, “an’ I don’t want ye to forgit it.”

“I won’t, Dannie,” said Godfrey, giving his son’s hand another cordial shake.

“Ye done said ye’d give me half, I reckon, didn’t ye, pap?”

“I did; an’ what I say I allers stand to. Yer circus-hoss, an’ yer fish-pole what ye kin take all in pieces an’ carry under yer arm, an’ yer shiny boots, an’ all them other nice things ye have been wantin’ so long, are comin’ to ye now. When ye get ’em I’d jest like to see you alongside of them pale-faced youngsters up to the general’s. Yer a heap smarter an’ better lookin’ nor they be, Dannie. You hear me?”

Dan grinned, and Godfrey having lost all the tobacco out of his pipe while he was dancing about, filled up again, and sat down for a fresh smoke. His excitement had not in the least abated, and neither had Dan’s. They built air-castles and laid plans for the future, until the afternoon began to draw to a close, and then Godfrey announced that it was time to prepare for business. He covered up the fire, threw on his powder-horn and bullet-pouch, and, taking his long rifle on his shoulder, led the way, through the woods, toward his cabin, closely followed by Dan, whose bright dreams grew still brighter as the time for their fulfilment drew nearer.

As they approached the cabin they heard the sound of an axe, and, when they came near enough to peer through the bushes, they saw David in the yard chopping wood. When his task was finished, he put the axe away, and began carrying the wood into the cabin, and, while he worked, he whistled merrily. He was happy, as he had reason to be. When the last stick of wood had been deposited by the side of the fire-place, and David had walked two or three times around the cabin, and looked sharply in every direction, to make sure that Dan was not loitering about, ready to play his old game of eavesdropping, the Boy Trapper went in, and closed and fastened the door.

“Now, mother,” said he, “where shall we hide these greenbacks? A hound on a deer’s trail is not sharper than Dan is when he scents money; and if he finds out that I have received my pay he will want me to divide with him, and if I don’t do it, he’ll make such a fuss that we can’t stay in the house with him. We have nothing to fear from father now.”

“We must take good care to keep our secret from Daniel’s knowledge,” said Mrs. Evans. “I don’t see how he is going to find it out. I shan’t tell him, and neither will you.”

“Of course not; but there were three or four men in the store when Mr. Jones paid me the money,” said David, taking down a rusty tin box from the rough mantel over the fire-place. “I don’t know who they were, for I was too excited to know anybody. If they don’t speak of it, no one will know that I have got the money; but I can’t afford to run any risks. I must hide it somewhere until Don comes back, and then I’ll give it to him to keep for me. It will be safe in his hands. Now, mother, let’s see if it is all here. I didn’t count it when Silas gave it to me.”

David and his mother had spent the most of the afternoon in talking over their plans and calculating how long, with the economy they intended to practice, their little fortune would suffice to supply them with clothing and provisions. It was a large sum in David’s eyes, but Mrs. Evans knew that it would not last for ever, and she had labored hard to impress this fact upon the boy’s mind.

David turned the contents of the box into his mother’s lap, and as they were not accustomed to the handling of money, it took them both nearly a quarter of an hour to straighten out the bills and put the various denominations together, so that they could be easily counted. They were very much interested in their work and little dreamed that during the most of the time they were thus engaged two faces, pale with excitement, were pressed close against one of the cracks in the rear wall of the cabin, and two pairs of eager eyes were watching their every movement.

“One hundred and sixty-four dollars and fifty cents,” said David, as he rolled up the money, replaced it in the tin box and put the cover on it. “It is all here, and now what are we going to do with it until Don comes home? Think up a good place to hide it, mother.”

At this moment one of the two eager pairs of eyes was suddenly withdrawn from the crack between the logs, a tall, gaunt figure moved with quick and noiseless footsteps around the end of the cabin and a strong hand was laid upon the latch. David and his mother started up in great alarm, and the boy, with a presentiment that his money was in danger, hastily slipped it under the foot of the “shake down” in which he slept. Again the door was tried and a familiar voice exclaimed:

“Shettin’ me outen my own house, be ye? What be ye doin’ it fur, I axes ye?”

“It’s father,” whispered David with a sinking at his heart; and while his mother was advancing to undo the fastenings of the door he quickly snatched up his box again, and raising one of the stones which formed the hearth, he put the box under it and stood upon it to force the stone back to its place.

The fastenings being undone the door was thrown open and the master of the house, pale and haggard, stalked into the room. His wife had seen him look so once before, and that was when he was hiding from the Union soldiers.

“Why, Godfrey!” exclaimed Mrs. Evans. “I am so glad you have come back.”

“Glad, be ye?” cried her husband, turning fiercely upon her and shaking off the hand she had laid upon his arm. “I reckon ye be. Here’s me been a layin’ out all these cold nights, a freezin’ and a starvin’, an’ ye never sent me a blanket to kiver myself up with, nor a bite of grub to eat. Glad, be ye? Sich talk don’t go down, ole woman!”

“Why, father, there’s only one blanket in the house,” said Mrs. Evans.

“Then why didn’t ye send me no grub?” demanded Godfrey, angrily.

“I didn’t know where to find you,” was the meek reply.

“Wal, ye could a hunted me up, I reckon, if ye had wanted to see me very bad. But if I am a layin’ out, I’m boss here yet. This is my house, an’ so’s every thing what’s into it, an’ I don’t want none on ye to forgit it.”

“We know it is all yours, father,” said Mrs. Evans. “You may have the blanket if you want it. I can get along without it.”

“I don’t want it, an’ dog-gone my buttons I won’t have it,” shouted Godfrey, throwing his arms wildly about his head. “I’m rich enough to buy more an’ better. Dave, hand out them hundred an’ sixty dollars, an’ be quick about it. You hear me?”

A deep silence followed this demand. Neither David nor his mother could make any reply to it, and while Godfrey was waiting for them to say something, he shook all over as if he had been seized with the ague. His excitement and impatience were so great that he could not hold himself still.

“Dave, does ye hear yer pap a speakin’ to ye?” Godfrey almost yelled. “Whar’s them thar greenbacks, I axes ye? Hand ’em out here quicker’n a streak of chain lightnin’.”

“O, Godfrey!” exclaimed Mrs. Evans, recovering her power of speech by a great effort, “you surely would not rob David of the money that he has worked so hard for! It is his, for he earned it. You have no claim upon it, for you didn’t help him.”

“Ole woman!” cried Godfrey, “Dave haint twenty-one year ole yit. Them thar greenbacks is in this house, kase I seed ’em not more’n a minute ago, an’ I’ll have ’em if I have to bust up the hul consarn. Dave, if ye don’t want to see me turn myself loose hand ’em out here.”

“I’ll die first,” was the boy’s firm reply. “If you want any money go to work and earn some, as I did. That’s the honest way.”

“Honest!” yelled Godfrey, seizing the “shake down” and lifting it from the floor. “Whoop! that there money is mine, kase yer my son an’ I’m yer pap. I’m boss here, too, an’ that gives me the right to handle every cent what comes into the house. If ye won’t hand ’em out peaceable, I’ll look for ’em myself; and ye won’t find much furnitur in the shantee arter I get through lookin’, nuther. You hear me?”

“Don’t waste no time with them bed-clothes, pap,” cried a voice from the rear of the cabin. “Shove Dave off’n that rock an’ hist it up. Then ye’ll find ’em, kase I seed him put ’em thar!”

Up to this time David had stood motionless on the hearth-stone, revolving in his mind a thousand wild schemes for saving his money. He closely watched every move his father made, hoping that the latter would go to the other end of the cabin and give him an opportunity to raise the stone, seize the box, and rush out into the darkness; but Godfrey, who probably suspected some such design on David’s part, was careful to keep between him and the door. There was but one hope to which the boy could cling, and that was that his father might not find the money. The box had been pressed into the soft earth, and now David noticed, with no little satisfaction, that the heavy stone was as firmly and evenly settled in its place as it was before he raised it. It is possible that Godfrey might have overlooked this hiding-place in his frantic search, had it not been for the fact that he had a sharp-eyed ally close at hand.

Dan still kept his face pressed close against the crack in the rear wall of the cabin, and he saw what David did with his money. He did not want to say anything about it, however, for he feared that if he did, he would never be permitted to enter the cabin again. He did not want to become a hermit, as his father was. It was a part of his plans to live at home and enjoy morning gallops on his circus horse, and evening trips about the lake in his fine sail-boat. All the nice things he intended to purchase would be useless to him if he were compelled to live in the woods, as Godfrey did. He meant to conduct himself in such a manner that his mother and David would not suspect that he was in any way concerned in the robbery; but when he saw that his father was looking in the wrong place for the money, his excitement and impatience got the better of him, and he shouted out his advice before he knew it.

“Shove Dave off’n that thar rock an’ hist it up,” said he. “Then ye’ll find ’em, kase I seed him put ’em thar!”

Godfrey was prompt to act upon the suggestion, and David was as prompt to take the warning. With a wild cry of alarm the boy sprang off the rock, and stooping quickly made a frantic effort to secure his treasure; but the stone was firmly imbedded in its place, and his fingers seemed to have lost all their strength. His first attempt failed, and before he could make a second his father seized him by the collar, and with a quick, strong jerk sent him backward almost to the other end of the cabin. Then fiercely throwing off his wife, who tried to seize him by the arm, Godfrey pulled up the stone, and, with a loud shout of triumph, seized the box, sprang through the door, and disappeared. He ran around the end of the cabin, where he was joined by Dan, and the two fled as if all the officers of the law in the county were close at their heels. Like specters they glided through the woods, never once pausing or saying a word to each other, until they reached the camp. Then they breathed easier.

Godfrey at once proceeded to rake over the coals and mend the fire, and Dan noticed that his hands trembled violently. “Wal, pap, we done it, didn’t we?” said the boy, who was the first to speak.

“Yes, sar, we did; and now I’ll take a smoke.”

While Godfrey was filling and lighting his pipe, Dan threw himself on the ground beside the fire and looked steadily into the flames, evidently very much occupied with his own thoughts. He was not as well pleased with the result of their expedition as he had expected to be. He could not imagine how he was going to enjoy his money, now that he had got it. In spite of his firm determination to keep in the back-ground, and let his father do all the work and bear all the blame, he had exposed himself, and now his mother and David knew that he had had as much to do with the robbery as Godfrey himself. Dan was sorry for that, and would have given almost anything to be able to undo the mischief he had done. But, after all, he was the possessor of a larger pile of greenbacks than he had ever expected to own, and in that he found a few grains of consolation.

“Pap,” said he, suddenly, “we haint seed that thar money yet, and my eyes is just achin’ for a look at it!”

Without saying a word, Godfrey drew the box from his pocket, and Dan arose and took a seat by his side. Godfrey took off the cover, and exposed David’s treasure to Dan’s gaze; but, when the latter stretched his hand to touch the bills, his father hastily snatched away the box, and held it out of his reach.

“What made ye do that for?” demanded the boy, greatly astonished.

“’Kase I’m yer pap; that’s why,” was the satisfactory answer.

“Wal, if it hadn’t been for me ye wouldn’t a know’d nothing about them thar greenbacks,” said Dan, angrily. “I done told ye all about ’em, an’ if I aint got a right to tech ’em, I’d like to know what’s the reason why.”

“Ye’ve been a good boy, Dannie, an’ I’m goin’ to do well by ye. Ye jest see ef I don’t.”

“Ye done told me that when we got ’em ye would give me half.”

“Certinly I done told ye so, an’ I allers stand to what I say.”

“Wal, I reckon ye might as well count ’em out now as any time,” said Dan, who did not at all like his father’s tone and manner. “This fire gives a good light, an’ ye kin see by it. How much be I goin’ to get of them hundred and sixty dollars?”

“As much as ninety dollars, mebbe. I can’t jest exactly tell, ’kase I haint figured it as yet.”

“Ye might as well figure it up now, I reckon, mightn’t ye? What be ye doin’ that for?” cried Dan, when he saw his father replace the cover, and put the box back into his pocket.

“It’ll be safe thar, Dannie,” was the reply.

“But I kin take keer on my own money,” Dan almost shouted; “an’ dog-gone my buttons, I want it now. Count it out here, I tell ye.”

“Not by no manner of means,” answered Godfrey.

Dan was thunderstruck. He could scarcely believe that his ears were not deceiving him. He began to think he could see what his father had determined upon. “Aint—aint you goin’ to give me my share?” he managed to ask.

“No, I aint a goin’ to give it to ye no more, ’kase I done give it to you onct, an’ I allers stand to what I say. Half of this money is yourn already, but ye’d best let yer poor ole pap take keer on it fur ye, Dannie.”

“Whoop!” shrieked Dan, jumping up and knocking his heels together.

“What do a boy like yerself know about money?” continued Godfrey. “Yer pap is older an’ knows more’n ye do; an’ it’s the properest thing that he should take keer on it for ye. I’ll keep it in the box with mine, an’ then it will be safe.”

Dan’s rage was wonderful to behold. Was this the reward he was to receive for his services? He had acted as a faithful scout for his father, and kept him posted in all that was going on in the settlement. More than that, he had, as he believed, destroyed all his chances of living at home again, and he had done it all on the strength of his father’s promise that, when David’s money had been secured, he (Dan) should have half of it for his own. Dan understood by that, that the money was to be placed in his own hands, and that he would be allowed to do as he pleased with it; but, when he found that his father put a different construction on their agreement, he was almost beside himself with fury. He danced about the camp like an insane boy, knocking his heels together, clapping his hands, and yelling at the top of his voice; and all the while Godfrey sat smoking, with a most provoking smile on his face, but still keeping a wary eye on the boy’s movements, for fear that his rage might lead him to attempt some mischief.

“’Taint no arthly use to take on that thar way, Dannie,” said his father, as soon as the boy’s wild yells had subsided, so that he could make himself heard. “I don’t conspute that the money’s yourn, do I?”

“Then, if it is mine, why don’t you hand it out here, like a man had oughter do?” cried Dan.

“Haint I done told ye that it’s the best and properest thing that I should take keer on it fur ye?”

“I don’t want ye to take keer on it for me, an’ ye shan’t. It’s nothin’ but a plan ye’ve made up all outen yer own head to steal the hul on it, an’ cheat me outen my share; but ye shan’t do that nuther. Now, pap, I’ll tell ye what’s the gospel truth ’bout them thar greenbacks: If ye don’t count me out my ninety dollars right now, I’ll—I’ll——”

Dan suddenly paused, and took his seat on the opposite side of the fire. If it had been daylight, so that his father could see his compressed lips and the glitter in his eye, he might have been more cautious, for he would have known that Dan had determined on some desperate course of action.

“What was ye goin’ to say, sonny?” asked Godfrey, with the most exasperating coolness.

“I was goin’ to say jest this yere, pap,” replied Dan, who was hardly able to control himself, “I’ll give ye a week to think on it, an’ then, if ye don’t give me my share of them hundred and sixty dollars, thar’ll be the biggest furse in this settlement that thar’s been since the wah!”

“What’ll ye do, Dannie?”

“I’ll do something ye won’t like. Ye hear me?”

“Wal, I’ll think about it,” answered Godfrey, who knew very well that his hopeful son meant all he said, “an’ if I find that yer an’ amazin’ good boy, an’ know how to take keer of money, I’ll give ye yer share to keep for yerself.”

“That’ll be when the sky falls an’ we ketch blackbirds,” said Dan, to himself. “I know ye, pap, an’ ye think ye know me, too; but ye’ll find out afore mornin’ that ye don’t.”

But Dan said nothing aloud. In sullen silence he arranged a few withered bows for a bed, threw himself down upon them, and with his cap for a pillow, prepared to go to sleep. Godfrey remained by the fire for an hour or two longer, smoking and meditating, and when he became sleepy he stretched himself out where he sat and almost immediately sank into a heavy slumber.

Toward midnight the fire began to burn low, and Dan, with a snort and a start, sat up on his bed of boughs and looked about him. He stretched his arms and yawned loudly, and with a great deal more noise than seemed to be necessary, got up and mended the fire, furtively watching his father out of the corner of his eye as he did so. “He’s all right,” muttered Dan, with great satisfaction. “I reckoned mebbe he was ‘possumin’, but when he puffs his under lip in and out that thar way, he’s fast asleep.”

As these thoughts passed through Dan’s mind he suddenly ceased his operations at the fire, and approaching the sleeper with a stealthy step, kneeled down beside him and pulled out his jack-knife. He had noticed that it was only after a good deal of hard work that his father was able to push the box containing David’s money into his pocket, and that after he got it in, it was equally hard to get it out again. Dan had determined to possess that box and its contents, and knowing that he would run a great risk if he attempted to force it out of his father’s pocket, he hit upon the easier and safer plan of cutting it out. This he did with one swift, careful stroke with his knife, and Godfrey was none the wiser for it. The box fell out into Dan’s hand, and he lost no time in transferring it to his own pocket.

“Thar, dog-gone ye!” whispered Dan, trembling all over with excitement and apprehension. “Ye wouldn’t give me my ninety dollars, but tried to cheat me outen ’em, sayin’ ye was a goin’ to take keer on ’em fur me. I’ll take keer on the hul on it now, an’ not a dollar of it do ye see again. Didn’t I say that ye’d find out afore mornin’ that ye didn’t know me?”

So saying Dan shook his fist at the unconscious Godfrey, and crossing over to the other side of the fire with noiseless footsteps, picked up his rifle and crept away into the woods.