“YES, sur, that’s jest what that mean Dan o’ mine done,” shouted Godfrey, swinging his arms about his head. “I didn’t find it out until this mornin’, an’ then I cut a big hickory, and tuk arter him mighty peart, I tell ye; but somehow I couldn’t ketch the trail. I’ll take arter him agin bright an’ ’arly to-morrer, howsomever, an’ I’ll ketch him if I have to hoof over the hul state of Mississip. I jest come back here to take a leetle rest an’ kinder plan my movements, like the generals do afore a battle, ye know.”

This was not the real reason why Godfrey came back to his old camp. He believed that Dan was hiding somewhere in the swamp; and as that covered a large section of country, where plantations were few and far between, Godfrey thought it would be a good plan to replenish his haversack before starting in pursuit of his graceless son. The bacon and meal he had stolen from Mr. Owens’s smoke-house (Godfrey wondered why Bob did not say something to him about that affair) had all been eaten or wasted, and when night came Godfrey intended to go out on another foraging expedition. He was well acquainted in the settlement, all the dogs knew him, and it would be much easier and safer for him to break into a smoke-house there, than it would be in a strange neighborhood.

Bob was very much astonished at what he heard. He knew that Godfrey had uttered nothing but the truth, and told himself that he understood the situation perfectly. Godfrey was called the meanest man in the settlement, so far as money was concerned. He had been known to go to the store and beg for credit when he had cash enough in his pocket to pay for the goods he wanted. He would hold fast to a dollar as long as he could, and only let it go when he found that he could not help himself. It was not to be supposed that he would willingly give Dan half the hundred and sixty dollars, no matter how solemn the promises he might have made him. The plea that he wanted to take care of Dan’s share for him amused Bob, who knew that it was only an excuse on Godfrey’s part for keeping it all; and the boy thought that Dan showed wisdom in doing as he did. He wondered at it, too. He didn’t think Dan was half so smart.

“Well, Godfrey,” said Bob, rising from his log and picking up his rifle, “if any one should serve me a trick like that, do you know what I would do? I would hunt him, night and day, until I found him.”

“Yer mighty right, I will,” yelled Godfrey. “Ye hear me? An’ when I ketch him, I’ll make a hickory whistle about them ears of his’n till he’ll think thar’s a harrycane goin’ through the woods. Now I’m a shoutin’ to ye!”

“Well, good-by, Godfrey,” exclaimed Bob, who, seeing that the man began to show symptoms of going into another flurry, thought it best to get out of harm’s way. “Success to you.”

“I say, Mister Bob,” cried Godfrey, suddenly calming himself, “yer a monstrous fine boy, Bob, an’ me an’ my ole woman has allers been amazin’ fond of ye, an’ sot a heap of store by ye. Ye won’t say nothing to nobody ’bout seein’ me out here in the bresh, will ye, Mister Bob?”

“Not a word. You may depend upon me, Godfrey. If they don’t find you till I tell them where you are, you’ll never be found. Now here’s a go,” thought Bob, as he brought his rifle to a trail, and struggled slowly up the steep bank toward the top of the ridge, “and the question is, who is going to catch Dan first, Godfrey or I? I shouldn’t be afraid to say that I shall be the successful one, for Godfrey is going to look in the wrong place. He thinks Dan is in the swamp, but I don’t. He has shown himself to be a sly fox, and he wouldn’t be foolish enough to go down there and get lost in those dense canebrakes. There are too many bears and wild-cats in them. Dan is hidden somewhere among these hills, and so close to the settlement that he can hear every boat that whistles at the landing.”

Bob was greatly encouraged by what he had heard during his interview with Godfrey. He thought it was a very fortunate thing for him that Dan had stolen the money, for it made it easier for him to accomplish the task he had set for himself. He had entertained some serious doubts as to his ability to outwit Godfrey, but he told himself that, if he was not smart enough to get the better of Dan in some way, he ought to go without a breech-loader as long as he lived. Just how he would set about it he had not made up his mind. His first hard work must be, to find Dan. That was the greatest difficulty to be overcome. The others were small in comparison.

Having, at last, reached the top of the ridge, Bob sat down for a few minutes to recover his breath, and eat his lunch, and then set out through the woods at a rapid walk. There was no need of caution, now, for it was not at all probable that Dan would be found anywhere within sight of the smoke of his father’s camp-fire. Bob seemed to know where he was going, for he held a straight course, turning aside for neither gully nor hill, until, at length, he reached a high ridge, bounded on each side by a deep and densely-wooded ravine, like the one in which he had discovered Godfrey. If Dan was to be found anywhere among the hills, this was the place in which Bob thought he ought to look for him. He examined both the ravines as well as he could, as he walked rapidly along, but nothing like the smoke of a camp-fire was to be seen. When he arrived at the end of the ridge he would have been glad to return, and go over that portion of it which he had not yet surveyed; but the declining sun admonished him that it was time for him to turn his face homeward, and this he reluctantly did.

“I was in hopes that I should have that money in my possession before I went to bed to-night,” thought Bob, as he shouldered his rifle, and struck a straight course for his father’s plantation. “But I’ll have it to-morrow night, unless luck goes against me. I am sure he is in one of these two gullies; and I will be out in the morning about the time he is cooking his breakfast, and then I’ll see the smoke of his fire. Hallo! Be-he-he!”

That is as near as we can come to spelling the sound to which Bob gave utterance, just after he finished his soliloquy. It was a perfect imitation of the bleat of a fawn. While he was hurrying along, intent on reaching home before dark, and thinking busily about Dan Evans, he “jumped” a huge buck from the top of a fallen tree, just in front of him. The buck ran as only a frightened deer can, but, before he had made many bounds, he heard Bob’s call, and came to a stand-still. He paused but an instant, but that instant was fatal to him. As he turned his stately head, the bullet from Bob’s rifle pierced his neck and he fell, and died almost without a struggle. Bob ran quickly to his side, and in a very short space of time, considering the amount of work that was done, the deer had been cleaned and hung upon the branches of a small tree, out of reach of the wolves, and the young hunter was once more on his way home. He reached the house shortly after dark, and found the family just sitting down to supper.

Bob fell asleep that night while laying his plans for the following day, and being wearied with his long tramp, he slept soundly; but he was up by the time the first gray streaks of dawn were seen in the east, and accompanied by a decrepit old negro, who led a mule as old and infirm as himself, set out for another day in the woods.

“Mister Bob,” said the negro, as they made their way across the cornfield, “does yer know dat somebody was a tryin’ fur to steal dem chickens dis mornin’?”

“No,” replied Bob. “I didn’t know it.”

“Yes, sar, dar was. Dis mornin’ I heared a fursin’ out dar an’ I says to myself: ‘Bijah, dar’s an owl gwine fur dem chickens.’ So I gets up an’ goes to de do’ fur to shoo him off, an’ I sees somebody in de tree whar de chickens was a roostin’. So I goes up mighty quiet an’ still an’ he nebber sees nor hears me till I was plumb under de tree; den he draps and I retch fur him. But I aint spry like I was in my young days—no, sar, I aint—an’ I nebber cotch him; but I skeared him mighty bad, an’ ye jest oughter see dat feller hump hisself.”

“He ran fast, did he?”

“O, yes, sar.”

“Did he take any chickens with him?”

“No, sar. I done made him drap dem.”

“Do you know who he was?”

“O, yes, sar; dat biggest Ebans boy—Dan Ebans. Yes, sar, dat’s who he was. Mister Bob, ’pears to me dat de law oughter cotch some of dem white trash, kase dey’s a heap wusser den de niggers ’bout stealin’. Yes, sar, dey is so.”

“O, there’s no use in saying anything about it, Bijah. He didn’t get any of the chickens?”

“No, sar, but he done tried mighty hard.”

“I would not care if he had got every chicken on the plantation,” said Bob, to himself, “for now I know that I am on the right track. Dan is camped closer to our house than he is to any other, or he would not have come to our hen-roost to steal chickens. He is well enough acquainted with the woods to know that the best hiding-place he can find is in one of those two gullies, and right there is where I shall look for him.”

Bob found the buck he had killed the night before just as he had left it, and when it had been placed on the mule’s back, old Bijah set out on his return to the plantation. As soon as he was out of sight among the trees Bob turned his face toward the ridge he had explored on the previous day, moving along so slowly and stealthily that he had hardly caused a leaf to rustle. When he reached the high ground he became still more cautious in his movements, and every now and then he would stop and listen, and look sharply in every direction.

Had a city youth been standing by Bob’s side on the top of the ridge, he would have thought that the young hunter had undertaken a hopeless task. The gullies, which ran on each side, were so densely covered with bushes that an army might have found concealment in them. More than that, they were two or three hundred yards wide at the bottom, and more than five miles long; and how could Bob hope to discover a single boy in that wilderness? By the same tell-tale sign that had revealed Godfrey’s presence to him—the smoke of a camp-fire. He discovered it before he had gone half a mile. It ascended in a thick cloud from a clump of bushes on the side of the opposite ridge, and Bob told himself that Dan had just started his fire, and was getting ready to cook his breakfast.

“He’ll not have broiled chicken, that’s certain,” said he, as he threw himself flat on the ground and began to work his way down the ridge in the direction of Dan’s camp. “He ran considerable risk when he tried to rob our hen-roost, and I don’t see what made him do it when game is so abundant. Probably he wanted a change.”

Bob crept through the bushes with surprising swiftness, and at the end of half an hour had approached near enough to Dan’s camp to take a good survey of it. Dan was at home, and he was engaged in a most pleasing occupation, if one might judge by the smiles which now and then overspread his face. He was sitting on a log, which he had rolled up in front of the fire, holding in one hand a small tin box, and in the other a package of greenbacks. He held the bills in all sorts of positions, so that he could see every side of them. He ran his fingers over them caressingly, spread them out on his knee, and then holding them out at arm’s length, turned his head on one side, and looked at them most lovingly. Bob, who saw it all from his place of concealment, was equally interested. He had never seen so large a package of greenbacks before, and his eyes fairly glistened while he looked at them.

“I had no idea that a hundred and sixty dollars would make such a big bundle as that,” thought Bob. “It must be all in small bills. That beggar looks nice with so much money in his possession, doesn’t he? But he shan’t have it much longer, for it is mine. I could have earned it if it hadn’t been for Don Gordon, and I’ll have it if I have to knock Dan down to get it.”

Fortunately Bob was saved the trouble of putting this desperate resolve into execution, for just then a gray squirrel mounted quickly into the branches of a hickory a few rods away and set up a shrill bark. Dan heard him, and Bob judged by his actions that he had not yet had his breakfast. This was the fact. Dan had been so excited by the success that had attended the plans he had laid for securing the whole of David’s money, and so anxious to get safely out of his father’s reach and find a secure hiding-place, that he could not take time to hunt up anything to eat. He had not had a mouthful for the last twenty-four hours. He did not even know that he was hungry; but he found it out during the previous night, and his raid on Mr. Owens’s hen-roost had been undertaken because he thought he could not possibly go without something to eat until the day broke and the squirrels began to stir about.

When Dan heard the barking of the squirrel he placed the money quickly in the box, put on the cover, and thrusting it under the log on which he was sitting, hastily drew a few leaves over it to conceal it. This done he picked up his rifle which lay on the ground near him, arose from his seat, and with noiseless footsteps stole off through the bushes in the direction from which the barking of the squirrel sounded. He was out of sight in a few seconds, and this was the time for Bob, who crept quickly out of his concealment, and making a wide circuit around the camp, came up behind the log on which Dan had been sitting. There he paused a moment and listened to make sure that Dan was still working his way toward the squirrel, and then reaching over the log he ran his hand through the leaves which the wind had heaped against it, until his fingers came in contact with the box. With eager haste he seized it, and when he felt it fairly in his grasp his heart seemed to stop beating, so elated and excited was he. He held it with a firm grasp, as if he feared that it might somehow get away from him, and jumping quickly to his feet, turned his back on the camp and made off. For a few minutes he was very cautious in his movements; and then, believing that Dan was too far away to hear any noise he might make, he broke into a run. He went at his best speed, holding a straight course for home, until the report of a rifle echoing through the woods behind him caused him to slacken his pace to a rapid walk.

“Dan hasn’t discovered his loss yet,” said Bob, “for he has only just shot the squirrel.” He held the box at arm’s length as he spoke, and after looking at it affectionately for a few seconds, put it into his game-bag. “Dan will be back to his camp in a few minutes, and I would give something to know how he will act when he finds that his money is gone. His money! It is mine by right, and now that I have got it I am going to hold fast to it. I’ll have a new shot-gun now and a jointed fish-pole in spite of Don Gordon and Dave Evans.”

Bob reached home in due time and his appearance there surprised the family, who wanted to know why he had returned at so early an hour, and where his game was. Bob replied that one reason why he had come home was because he was hungry, having eaten no breakfast that morning; and another was because he had seen no game to shoot except squirrels, and he had grown tired of hunting. His mother prepared a breakfast for him, but if he was hungry his actions did not show it. He was hardly able to swallow a mouthful; and as soon as he could do so without running the risk of being questioned, he arose from the table and left the house. In order to do this he was obliged to watch his chance and slip out while there was no one in the room; for the tin box, which he had taken the precaution to transfer from his game-bag to his trousers pocket, stuck out so that when he stood erect no one could help noticing it. He succeeded in leaving the house without attracting any one’s attention, and dodging his father, who was in front of the shed saddling his horse, he bent his steps down the lane. There was a log lying on the fence corner, about half a mile from the house, on which he had sat and dreamed away many an hour since he had read that advertisement in the Rod and Gun, and there Bob stopped to feast his eyes on the contents of the box and make up his mind how he was going to spend them.

“The gun will cost me seventy-five dollars,” said he, as he seated himself on the log, straightened out his leg and began working the box out of his pocket. “That includes shells, wiping rod, loading tools, and things of that sort. The primers and ammunition will cost at least five dollars more. A nice lancewood bass rod will cost eight dollars, a reel five dollars, and hooks, lines, sinkers and bobbers—say two dollars more. That makes ninety-five dollars. Then I shall need a nice game-bag like Don Gordon’s, a fish-basket and a hunting-knife, and if they don’t cost more than five dollars they will be cheaper than I think they are. Say they will cost ten; that makes one hundred and five. Now what shall I do with the other fifty-five? Perhaps I had better buy a new saddle and bridle. If Lester had only acted like a white boy I would have bought some decoys, and he and I could have had high old times this winter shooting ducks and geese. But I’ll warrant I’ll find some way to spend the money.”

Bob having by this time succeeded in getting the box out of his pocket, removed the cover, and after looking up and down the lane, and before and behind him, to make sure that there was no one in sight, he took the bills out and counted them. They were all there, and having satisfied himself on this point Bob put them back, replaced the cover and laid the box down on the log by his side.

“Now, where shall I put my money?” thought he. “I must keep it hid somewhere, for of course it would be dangerous to let any one know that I have got it. What would father say to me if he should find it out?”

Bob suddenly paused, and an expression that it would be hard to describe settled on his face. The thought that had just passed through his mind called up another: If it would be dangerous to let his father know that he had a hundred and sixty dollars in his possession, would it not be equally dangerous to let him see the new shot-gun, fish-pole and other fine things he intended to purchase with the money? If Mr. Owens would be curious to know how Bob had acquired so great and sudden wealth, would he not be equally anxious to know where the gun and fishing-rod came from?

“I declare that never occurred to me before,” said Bob, resting his head on his hands and looking thoughtfully at the ground. “I am no better off now than I was when I hadn’t a cent in my pocket. I can’t enjoy the money now that I have got it. What in the world am I going to do?”

If there ever was a boy who was in a quandary it was Bob Owens.