“NOW Dave,” said Don, kindly, “brace up and be a man. Don’t take it so much to heart.”

“It is easy enough to say ‘brace up,’” sobbed David, “but how would you feel if you were in my place?”

“I don’t know, for you have not yet told me just what is the matter. Now let us hear the whole story from the beginning,” said Don, seating himself on the wharf beside the weeping boy.

David wiped away his tears, choked down his sobs by an effort, and proceeded to give a very disconnected account of the incidents that had happened at the cabin the night before. Don’s cheek flushed while he listened. If David had asked him now how he would feel if he were in the same situation, he would have received a prompt and decided reply. Don felt as if he would like to break Godfrey’s head and Dan’s, too.

“Mother and I never slept a wink last night,” continued David. “We did not even go to bed. We could only talk and cry. Mother says we can’t do anything about it, for father has the right to take all my earnings.”

“Whew!” whistled Don. “That’s a fact.” He had not thought of it, however, until that moment. He had been telling himself that if there were officers enough in the county to find Godfrey, he should be arrested at once; but now he saw that there were difficulties in the way.

“And another bad thing about it is that I owe Silas Jones a grocery bill, and haven’t a cent to pay it with,” added David. “I ought to have paid him when he gave me the money, but I did not think of it. I was too impatient to get home and show mother the roll of greenbacks you had helped me to earn.”

“And we’ll help you earn more this very day,” said Don, cheerfully. “Don’t let that bill trouble you. I have ten dollars of your money in my hands, you know, and there are forty dollars more waiting for you up there in the woods.”

David could only look his surprise.

“You know you have an interest in that bear trap on Bruin’s Island,” continued Don, “Bert and I have just been up there and found three bears—an old one and two cubs. We shot the old one and will take her as our share of the spoils, and you shall have the cubs. Silas Jones will give you twenty dollars apiece for them. We’re going back after them as soon as we get some help. Do you feel like going with us? Perhaps it would liven you up a little.”

“I’m afraid it wouldn’t,” said David, beginning to cry again. “You have been very kind to me, but my bad luck is too much for all of us. I haven’t the heart to do anything.”

“Well, I don’t suppose you have,” said Don, in a sympathizing tone. “Go home and make your mind as easy as possible, and we will see what can be done for you. There! good-by.”

David being thus abruptly dismissed staggered to his feet and walked away, while Don, after lingering long enough to flourish his fists and make other demonstrations indicative of a desire to pound somebody, ran off toward the house, leaving his brother to make the sail-boat ready for her trip up the bayou.

“Why, Don,” exclaimed the general, as the boy burst panting and almost breathless into the library, where his father sat busy with his papers, “what has happened? You seem to be very much excited about something.”

“O, father,” cried Don, “here’s a fearful mess. Dave Evans received a hundred and sixty-four dollars and a half, clear of all expenses, for his quails, and last night his father came home and stole every cent of it.”

The general laid down his pen and turned his chair around so that he could face Don. “How did Godfrey find out that David had the money?” he asked.

“Dan must have told him, for he was there looking through a crack between the logs; but how Dan found it out is a mystery. Dave was going to give the money to me as soon as I came home. Godfrey must have acted like a brute. He threw Dave clear across the room, and pushed his mother about in a way that was perfectly shameful.”

“It is very unfortunate,” said the general, referring as much to the condition of Godfrey and his family as to the loss of David’s money.

“And the worst of it is that David has no redress,” continued Don. “He is a minor, and that lazy Godfrey can take every cent he earns.”

“That would be true under certain circumstances,” replied the general with a smile, “but suppose you and I could show to Judge Packard’s satisfaction that Godfrey is not a proper person to have charge of a family, and that he has not contributed a dollar towards their support for years; what then?”

“I am sure I don’t know,” said Don, after thinking a moment. “Would the judge do anything about it?”

“Very likely he would. He would issue a warrant for his arrest; and as it would be no trouble at all to prove that David is the main stay of the family, and that he needs that money for the support of himself and his mother, the court would compel Godfrey to hand it over, and then it would probably give him his choice between going to work and going to jail.”

“Good!” exclaimed Don. “David will come out all right after all.”

“I think so,” replied the general, smiling at the boy’s enthusiasm, “and this is just the time to attend to the matter. Court is in session now, you know, and I will see the judge at once.”

Don was delighted; and having placed David’s interests in safe hands, now spoke of his own affairs.

“That isn’t all I have to tell you,” said he. “We found a cub in our trap this morning; the dogs treed another, and I shot the old bear.”

The general, who was busy putting away his papers, turned and looked at Don.

“She was the largest bear I ever saw alive, and it took a bullet and two loads of buckshot to settle her,” continued the boy.

“I hope you will not get into any trouble during your hunting expeditions,” said the general, but it was easy enough to see that he took a fatherly pride in Don’s exploit.

“The strange part of the story is, that when Bert and I reached the island we found Bob Owens and Lester Brigham there, and the old bear had treed them both.”

“That is the second time they have been treed to my knowledge.”

“Sir?” said Don, who knew nothing of the attempt that had been made on the negro cabin.

“Go on with your story,” replied the general, “what were Bob and Lester doing on the island?”

Don hesitated a moment, turning his father’s words over in his mind and trying to fathom their meaning, and then proceeded to give a hasty account of the thrilling incidents that had happened on the island that morning. The general opened his eyes in surprise, and in response to Don’s request that he might have help enough to secure the cubs and remove the old bear, said:

“Certainly. Go to the overseer and tell him you want Jake and Cuff. They will give you all the help you need. If it was not for what you have just told me about David’s misfortune, I would go with you myself.”

Don thanked his father, and hurried from the room. The two negroes were at work in the field, and the field was half a mile from the house. That was too far to walk, especially for one who was in such a hurry as Don was, so he jumped on his pony, without saddle or bridle, and set off in a gallop. The negroes grinned all over with delight when the overseer told them what Don wanted of them, and, shouldering their axes, started at once for the house, while Don galloped on ahead. Having delivered his pony into the hands of the hostler, he ran into the house, seized a lunch which one of his sisters quickly put up for him, and he and Bert sat in the boat and ate it, while waiting for Jake and Cuff. Bert breathed easier when he learned that David had rights after all, and that the law was plenty strong enough to give them to him. Their first care, he said, must be to tell David the good news; but when the negroes had rowed them up to the cabin, they found no one there. The premises were entirely deserted.

There was a good deal of excitement and sport, and more hard work, crowded into the next hour. The old bear proved to be fully as heavy and unmanageable as Don had expected, and it was only by dint of extra exertion that they succeeded in getting her into the boat. The cubs squalled, bit and scratched, and before they were secured, Don, who was foremost in the battle, had, as he expressed it, “a pretty looking pair of hands,” while Bert’s coat was minus one sleeve and a portion of the other. But they had lots of fun in spite of the hard usage they received.

It was a heavy load the stanch little sail-boat had to carry down the bayou, and her gunwales were not more than three inches above the water, but she carried it in safety, and, in due time, was moored to the wharf. One of the negroes was sent to the barn after a span of mules and a wagon, and when he came back the bears were all tumbled into the vehicle, and hauled up to the house. The old bear was left on the grass, near the back porch, so that the general could see her when he came home; and, when the boys’ mother and sisters had taken a good look at the cubs, Jake was sent back to his work in the field, and Don and Bert drove toward the landing, taking Cuff with them. They wanted a strong and faithful ally near at hand, in case the cubs succeeded in freeing themselves from the ropes with which they were confined.

The boys found Mr. Jones sitting in front of his store, and the usual number of loafers were keeping him company. “Here they are!” said Don, as he stopped the wagon at the edge of the sidewalk.

The grocer seemed surprised, but he did not ask any questions. He got up and looked into the wagon, and then he was more surprised than ever. He appeared to be delighted, too. “Hold on a minute,” said he. “Leave them right there until I fix a place for them.”

“How much are they worth?” asked Don.

“Twenty dollars apiece, cash down.”

“Are you going to keep them, Mr. Jones?” asked Bert.

“O, no! I am buying them for a showman, who lives in Memphis.”

Had this incident happened in a city, Don’s wagon would quickly have been surrounded by a crowd of curious people; but the planters about Rochdale had seen so many young bears, that they did not look upon them as objects of interest. The hangers-on got up and took just one look at them, asked the boys a few questions regarding the manner in which their capture had been effected, and then set to work to assist Silas in preparing a box for their reception. The work was soon done; the cubs were transferred to their new quarters, and Don, with forty dollars in his pocket, turned the mules about and drove homeward.

Meanwhile how fared it with Lester and Bob, whom we left in the canebrake comparing notes, and in no amiable frame of mind? Lester seemed to be pretty badly used up by his fall, and it was only after several attempts that he succeeded in regaining his feet; and even then he could not walk, and his companion was obliged to carry him to the boat. But his tongue was lively enough, and he heartily united with Bob in denouncing the boy who had saved his life. They could not make up their minds whom they hated the more—Don Gordon, who had taken the fight out of their hands and killed the bear, or David Evans, who was to receive forty dollars more, to be added to the nice little sum he had received for trapping the quails.

Having placed his helpless companion in a comfortable position in the bow of the canoe, Bob went back after the guns and Lester’s hat, which had been left on the battle field, and then he picked up one of the paddles and pushed off into the stream.

“Luck is against us—that is plain enough to be seen,” said he. “We fail in everything we undertake, and if I should slip up on that mail business it would not surprise me at all. Don will blow this exploit of his all over the settlement, and that will place us in a most ridiculous position.”

“But can’t we talk as fast as he can?” asked Lester. “Here are you and me on one side, and Don and Bert on the other. Our word is just as good as theirs. I couldn’t shoot at the bear because my gun was foul,” added Lester, who had just discovered that the muzzle of his weapon was choked with mud. “But you shot her, and the wound proved fatal—not immediately, but in a few minutes. After the bear was dead, up came this Don Gordon and fired a bullet and two loads of buckshot into her, and claiming to have killed her, carried off the old bear and both the cubs. How’s that?”

“Good enough!” exclaimed Bob, who saw at once what his companion was trying to get at. “To add weight to the story—I have been in a dozen bear fights, and Don was never in one before to-day.”

“But I don’t know how to account for my injuries,” said Lester, taking hold of his left leg with both hands, and moving it into a little easier position.

“I do,” said Bob. “Which part of you hurts the most?”

“My left hip.”

“All right. There’s where the bear hit you with her paw when she first came out of the cane.”

“But how did I get my lame shoulder?”

“She knocked you against a tree.”

“So she did,” exclaimed Lester. “And it was while the bear was knocking me over that you shot her. Now keep all these little things in mind, so that our stories will agree.”

“Is that what you are going to tell your father?”

“That’s just it.”

“Well, don’t you think it will help the bond business a little? I saved your life, you know; for, of course, the bear would have killed you if I hadn’t stood by you.”

“I’ll say so, if you want me to, but it will not be necessary. You needn’t worry about those bonds, for I assure you they are all right. Father does almost every thing I ask him to do.”

Greatly encouraged by these words, Bob bent to his work with redoubled energy, and the little canoe shot swiftly down the bayou. He made a landing in front of Godfrey Evans’s cabin, and leaving his companion there, started for home after a horse and wagon; for Lester declared that he could not possibly ride on horseback. Bob returned at the end of an hour, and having placed his friend in a comfortable position, on a pile of straw on the bottom of the wagon, mounted to the seat and drove off. He was obliged to drive very slowly, and another hour passed before he turned into the carriage-way that led up to Mr. Brigham’s residence.

Great was the consternation in that house when Lester was carried, limp and helpless, up the steps that led to the porch; great was the surprise depicted upon every countenance when it became known that the two boys had passed through the most desperate bear fight that had ever been heard of, and many were the words of praise that Bob received for the courage he had exhibited in saving the life of his friend. Mrs. Brigham, who believed every word of the ridiculous story, assured him that his heroic conduct should not be forgotten, and Bob, greatly pleased with this little stroke of policy, got into his wagon and drove home. When he had unharnessed the horse, he went into the house and found the family just sitting down to a late dinner.

“Why, Bob,” said Mr. Owens, as his eyes fell upon the boy’s torn and muddy clothing, “you look as though you had been somewhere.”

“I should say I had been somewhere,” replied Bob. “If I haven’t had a time this morning! Whew! it makes me tremble to think of it. I’ll tell you all about it in a few minutes.”

Bob went to his room to dress for dinner, and, when he came back and had taken his seat at the table, he began and related the particulars of the fright on Bruin’s Island, just as he and Lester had agreed. Mr. Owens looked incredulous, and stared at Bob so fixedly that the boy was obliged to drop his eyes and look down at his plate. “It’s a fact,” said he, stoutly. “You just ask Lester the next time you see him. He is all battered and bruised, and I have just helped to put him to bed.”

Mr. Owens made no reply. He went on eating his dinner, and Bob, after he had taken a few minutes in which to recover his composure (for his father’s sharp glances told him that his story was not believed), inquired:

“Have you done anything about that mail business, father?”

“I have done all I could this forenoon, and am going to work again this afternoon. Gordon has already sent in his bid, and the worst of it is, he has all the best men about here to back him up—that is, all those who consider themselves the best,”—added Mr. Owens, in a sneering tone. “But it doesn’t follow that one man is better than another because he lives in a larger house and has more money. I shall call on a few planters in the settlement, after dinner, and then I will ride over and see Brigham about those bonds.”

“You’ll get them, sure,” said Bob, confidently. “Lester said so.”

“I shall put in my bid at twenty-five dollars,” continued Mr. Owens.

“That will be a loss of five dollars a month, or sixty dollars a year,” said Bob, thoughtfully. “It is a lot of money, father.”

“But if, by losing sixty dollars a year, you could make three hundred, don’t you think it would be a good investment?”

Bob said he thought it would; but he told himself that he had just as much right to demand thirty dollars a month for carrying the mail as Dave Evans had. Sixty dollars would buy many things that would be useful to him. That ragamuffin was always in his way.

Bob, having finished his dinner, went out and loitered around until he saw his father mount his horse and ride away, and then he walked off down the lane. He wanted to get away, by himself, so that he could think over his future prospects. He wandered aimlessly about, building air-castles, until it began to grow dark, and then he turned his face toward home, where he arrived just in time to see Mr. Owens dismount at the gate.

“What luck?” asked Bob, who was now in the greatest suspense, for he knew that his fate depended upon the first words that fell from his father’s lips.

Mr. Owens did not reply at once. With the most provoking deliberation he hitched his horse to the fence, after which he faced about, put his hands into his pockets, and looked at his son. “Bob,” said he, in a tone of voice which made the boy’s heart sink within him, “you remember the night that you and Lester went ’coon-hunting, don’t you?”

Bob started, but tried to look innocent. Fixing his eyes thoughtfully on the ground, as if he were trying hard to recall the night to which his father referred, he said, slowly:

“I can’t say that I do. We have been ’coon-hunting a good many times, you know.”

“But I have in mind one particular night on which something occurred that you will remember the longest day you live.”

Bob looked down at the ground again, and began to tremble. Knowing what was coming, he backed up against the fence, as if he feared that his father’s next words would knock him over. And they did come pretty near it.

“Well, Bob,” said Mr. Owens, “I will tell you, for your satisfaction, that you have destroyed all your chances of being mail carrier in this county. Mr. Brigham said he could not assist in placing a would-be thief in so responsible a position.”

“A thief!” gasped Bob.

“Yes. If it hadn’t been for Don Gordon’s hounds you and Lester would have broken into one of the general’s negro cabins. There’s where you were on the night you said you went ’coon-hunting. Did you know what you were about? If you had succeeded the law would have taken hold of you.”

“I didn’t do it,” exclaimed Bob, as soon as he could speak. “There’s not a word of truth in it.”

“O, you can’t face it down, and there is no use in trying. The story is all over the settlement, and when it came to Mr. Brigham’s ears this afternoon, he made Lester confess.”

This was the worst blow of all. Lester had confessed! And since he had begun, where had he stopped? Had he told the truth concerning the adventures of the morning? Had he—and here Bob’s heart seemed to stop beating—had he told about the burning of Don Gordon’s shooting-box? As these thoughts passed through Bob’s mind his rage for the moment got the better of him. “The coward!” he exclaimed. “And I saved his life, too.”

“Well, the less you say about that, Bob, the better,” replied Mr. Owens. “Lester received his bruises by falling out of a tree.”

“How do you know?” Bob managed to ask.

“He said so.”

Bob couldn’t bear to hear another word. There was only one thing more Lester had to confess, and Bob thought he could not survive if his father should tell him of that. As he turned and hurried down the lane Mr. Owens exclaimed:

“There’s another thing, Bob. Lester made a clean breast of everything while he was about it.”

The boy quickened his pace, but could not get out of hearing of his father’s voice.

“Brigham and I are going to see the general in the morning about the burning of that little shanty over on the lake shore,” said Mr. Owens. “We don’t want any trouble about it if we can help it.”

So intense were Bob’s feelings of rage and alarm that he could scarcely breathe. Uttering a loud yell, which he could not have repressed to save his life, he broke into a run and went down the lane at the top of his speed. But fast as he went his fears kept pace with him, and somehow he could not help recalling the text from which he had heard the minister preach a few Sundays before: “Be sure your sin will find you out!”

If Bob had never believed this before he believed it now.