Chapter 7

The professor stopped short in the path.

“Gold!” he ejaculated.  “Gold!”

Was there a vibration of incredulity in his voice?

Birt remembered all at once the specimens which he had picked up that memorable evening, down the ravine, when he shot the red fox.  Here they still were in his pocket.  They showed lustrous, metallic, yellow gleams as he placed them carefully in the old man’s outstretched hand, telling how he came by them, of his mistaken confidence, the betrayed trust, and ending by pointing at the group of gold-seekers, microscopic in the distance on the opposite slope.

“I hev hearn tell,” he added, “ez Nate air countin’ on goin’ pardners with a man in Sparty, who hev got money, to work the gold mine.”

Now and then, as he talked, he glanced up at his companion’s face, vaguely expecting to discover his opinion by its expression, but the light still played in a baffling glitter upon his spectacles.

Birt could only follow when the professor suddenly handed back the specimens with a peremptory “Come - come!  We must go for the spade.  But when we reach your mother’s house I will test this mineral, and you shall see for yourself what you have lost.”

Mrs. Dicey’s first impression upon meeting the stranger and learning of his mission was not altogether surprise as Birt had expected.  Her chief absorption was a deep thankfulness that the floors all preserved their freshly scoured appearance.

“Fur ef Rufe hed been playin’ round hyar ter-day, same ez common, the rubbish would have been a scandal ter the kentry,” she reflected.

In fact, all was so neat, albeit so poor, that the stranger felt as polite as he looked, while he talked to her about employing Birt in his researches.

Birt, however, had little disposition to listen to this.  He was excited by the prospect of testing the mineral, and he busied himself with great alacrity in preparing for it under the professor’s directions.  He suffered a qualm, it is true, as he pounded the shining fragments into a coarse powder, and then he drew out with the shovel a great glowing mass of live coals on the hearth.

The dogs peered eagerly in at the door, having followed the stranger with the liveliest curiosity.  Towse, bolder than the rest, entered intrepidly with a nonchalant air and a wagging tail, for he and Rufe, having failed to find Birt, had just returned home.  The small boy paused on the threshold in amazed recognition of the old gentleman who had occasioned him such a fright that day down the ravine.

The professor gesticulated a great deal as he bent over the fire and gave Birt directions, and, with his waving hands and the glow on his hoary hair and beard, he looked like some fantastic sorcerer.  Somehow Rufe was glad to see the familiar countenances of Pete and Joe, and was still more reassured to note that his mother was quietly standing beside the table, as she stirred the batter for bread in a wooden bowl.  Tennessee had pressed close to Birt, her chubby hand clutching his collar as he knelt on the hearth.  He held above the glowing coals a long fire shovel, on which the pulverized mineral had been placed, and his eyes were very bright as he earnestly watched it.

“If it is gold,” said the old man, “a moderate heat will not affect it.”

The shovel was growing hot.  The live coals glowed beneath it.  The breath of the fire stirred Tennessee’s flaxen hair.  And Birt’s dilated eyes saw the yellow particles still glistening unchanged in the centre of the shovel, which was beginning to redden.

CHAPTER XI.

Suddenly - was the glistening yellow mineral taking fire?  It began to give off sulphurous fumes.  And drifting away with them were all Birt’s golden visions and Nate’s ill-gotten wealth - ending in smoke!

The sulphurous odor grew stronger.  Even Towse stopped short, and gazed at the shovel with a reprehensive sniff.

“Ker-shoo!” he sneezed.

And commenting thus, he turned abruptly and went hastily out, with a startled look and a downcast tail.

His sneeze seemed to break the spell of silence that had fallen on the little group.

“It be mighty nigh bodaciously changed ter cinders!” exclaimed Birt, staring in amaze at the lustreless contents of the shovel from which every suggestion of golden glimmer had faded.  “What do it be, ef ’tain’t gold?”

“Iron pyrites,” said the professor.  “‘Fools’ gold,’ it is often called.”

He explained to Birt that in certain formations, however, gold is associated with iron pyrites, and when the mineral is properly roasted, this process serving to expel the sulphur, the fine particles of gold are found held in the resulting oxide of iron.  But the variety of the mineral discovered down the ravine he said was valueless, unless occurring in vast quantities, when it is sometimes utilized in the production of sulphur.

“I wonder,” Birt broke out suddenly, “if the assayer won’t find no gold in them samples ez Nate sent him.”

The professor laughed.  “The assayer will need the ‘philosopher’s stone’ to find gold in any samples from this locality.”

“Ye knowed then, all the time, ez this stuff warn’t gold?” asked Birt.

“All the time,” rejoined the elder.

“An’ Nate hev got the steepest, rockiest spot in the kentry ter pay taxes on,” resumed Birt, reflectively.  “An’ he hev shelled out a power o’ money ter the surveyor, an’ sech, a’ready.  I reckon he’ll be mightily outed when he finds out ez the min’ral ain’t gold.”

Birt stopped short in renewed anxiety.

That missing grant!  Somehow he felt sure that Nate, balked of the great gains he had promised himself, would wreak his disappointment wherever he might; and since the land was of so little value, he would not continue to deny himself his revenge for fear that an investigation into the priority of the mineral’s discovery might invalidate the entry.  Once more Birt was tortured by the terror of arrest - he might yet suffer a prosecution from malignity, which had hitherto been withheld from policy.  If only the mystery of the lost grant could be solved!

The conversation of the elders had returned to the subject of the investigations around the “lick” and the terms for Birt’s services.  As so much time had been consumed with the pyrites, the professor concluded with some vexation that they could hardly arrange all the preliminaries and get to work this afternoon.

“I dare say we had best begin to-morrow morning,” he said at last.

“Birt can’t go a-diggin’ no-ways, this evenin’,” put in the officious Rufe, who stood, according to his wont, listening with his mouth and eyes wide open, “‘kase ez I kem home by the tanyard Jube Perkins hollered ter me ter tell Birt ter come thar right quick.  I furgot it till this minit,” he added, with a shade of embarrassment that might pass for apology.

Birt felt a prophetic thrill.  This summons promised developments of importance.  Only a few hours ago he was discharged under suspicion of dishonesty; why this sudden recall?  He did not know whether hope or fear was paramount.  He trembled with eager expectancy.  He seized his hat, and strode out of the house without waiting to hear more of the professor’s plans or the details of the wages.

He had reached the fence before he discovered Tennessee close at his heels.  He cast his troubled eyes down upon her, and met her pleading, upturned gaze.  He was about to charge her to go back.  But then he remembered how she had followed him with blessings - how mercy had kept pace with her steps.  He would not deny her the simple boon she craved, and if she were troublesome and in his way, surely he might be patient with her, since she loved him so!  He lifted her over the fence, and then started briskly down the path, the sturdy, light-footed little mountain girl delightedly trudging along in the rear.

When he entered the tanyard no one was there except Jube Perkins and Andy Byers the tanner, lounging as usual on the wood-pile, and the workman, with scarcely less the aspect of idleness, dawdlingly scraping a hide on the wooden horse.  Birt discerned a portent in the unwonted solemnity of their faces, and his heart sank.

“Waal, Birt, we-uns hev been a-waitin’ fur ye,” said the tanner in a subdued, grave tone that somehow reminded Birt of the bated voices in a house of death.  “Set down hyar on the wood-pile, fur Andy an’ me hev got a word ter say ter ye.”

Birt’s dilated black eyes turned in dumb appeal from one to the other as he sank down on the wood-pile.  His suspense gnawed him like an actual grief while Jubal Perkins slowly shifted his position and looked vaguely at Andy Byers for a suggestion, being uncertain how to begin.

“Waal, Birt,” he drawled at last, “ez yer dad is dead an’ ye hev got nobody ter see arter ye an’ advise ye, Andy an’ me, we-uns agreed ez how we’d talk ter ye right plain, an’ try ter git ye ter jedge o’ this hyar matter like we-uns do.  Andy an’ me know more ’bout the law, an’ ’bout folks too, than ye does.  These hyar Griggs folks hev always been misdoubted ez a fractious an’ contrary-wise fambly.  Ef enny Griggs ain’t aggervatin’ an’ captious, it air through bein’ plumb terrified by the t’others.  They air powerful hard folks - an’ they’ll land ye in the State Prison yet, I’m thinkin’.  I wonder they hain’t started at ye a’ready.  But thar’s no countin’ on ’em, ’ceptin’ that they’ll do all they kin that air ha’sh an’ grindin’.”

“That air a true word, Birt,” said Andy Byers, speaking to the boy for the first time in many days.  “Ef they hev thar reason fur it, they mought hold thar hand fur a time, but fust or las’ they’ll hev all out’n ye ez the law will allow ’em.”

Birt listened in desperation.  All this was sharpened by the certainty that the mineral was only valueless pyrites, and the prescience of Nate’s anger when this fact should come to his knowledge, and prudence no longer restrain him.  His rage would vent itself on his luckless victim for every cent, every mill, that the discovery of the “fools’ gold” had cost him.

“They’ll be takin’ ye away from the mountings ter jail ye an’ try ye, an’ mebbe ye’ll go ter the pen’tiary arter that.  An’ how will yer mother, an’ brothers, an’ sister, git thar vittles, an’ firewood, an’ corn-crap an’ clothes, an’ sech - Rufe bein’ the oldest child, arter you-uns?” demanded the tanner.  “An’ even when ye git back - I hate ter tell ye this word - nobody will want ye round.  They’ll be feared ye’d be forever pickin’ an’ stealin’.”

“But we-uns will stand up fur ye, bein’ ez ye air the widder’s son,” said Byers eagerly.  “We-uns will gin the Griggs tribe ter onderstand that.”

“An’ mebbe the Griggses won’t want ter do nuthin’, ef they hain’t got no furder cause fur holdin’ a grudge,” put in the tanner.

“What be ye a-layin’ off fur me ter do?” asked Birt wonderingly.

“Ter gin Nate’s grant back ter him,” they both replied in a breath.

“I hev not got it!” cried poor Birt tumultuously.  “I never stole it!  I dunno whar it be!”

The tanner’s expression changed from paternal kindliness to contemptuous anger.

“Air ye goin’ ter keep on bein’ a liar, Birt, ez well ez a thief?” he said sternly.

“I dunno whar it be,” reiterated Birt desperately.

“

I

know whar it be,” said Byers.  Birt gazed at him astounded.

“Whar?” he cried eagerly.

“Whar ye hid it,” returned Byers coolly.

Birt’s lips moved with difficulty as he huskily ejaculated “I never hid it - I never!”

“Ye needn’t deny it.  I ez good ez seen ye hide it.”

Birt looked dazed for a moment.  Then the blood rushed to his face and as suddenly receded, leaving it pale and rigid.  He was cold and trembling.  He could not speak.

The tanner scrutinized him narrowly.  Then he said, “Tell him ’bout it, Andy.  Tell him jes’ ez ye tole me.  An’ mebbe he’ll hev sense enough ter gin it up when he sees he air fairly caught.”

“Waal,” said Byers, leaning back against the wall of the smoke-house, and holding the knife idly poised in his hand, “I kem down ter the tanyard betimes that mornin’ arter the storm.  Both ye an’ Birt war late.  I noticed Nate Griggs’s coat hangin’ thar in the shed, with a paper stickin’ out’n the pocket, ez I started inter the smoke-house ter tend ter the fire.  I reckon I mus’ hev made consider’ble racket in thar, ’kase I never hearn nuthin’ till I sot down afore the fire on a log o’ wood, an’ lit my pipe.  All of a suddenty thar kem a step outside, toler’ble light on the tan.  I jes’ ’lowed ’t war ye or Birt.  But I happened ter look up, an’ thar I see a couple o’ big black eyes peepin’ through that thar crack in the wall.”

He turned and pointed out a crevice where the “daubin’” had fallen from the “chinkin’” between the logs.

“Ye can see,” he resumed, “ez this hyar crack air jes’ the height o’ Birt.  Waal, them eyes lookin’ in so onexpected didn’t ’sturb me none.  I hev knowed the Dicey eye fur thirty year, an’ thar ain’t none like ’em nowhar round the mountings.  But I ’lowed ’t war toler’ble sassy in Birt ter stand thar peerin’ at me through the chinkin’.  I never let on, though, ez I viewed him.  An’ then, them eyes jes’ set up sech a outdacious winkin’ an’ wallin’, an’ squinchin’, ez I knowed he war makin’ faces at me.  So I jes’ riz up - an’ the eyes slipped away from thar in a hurry.  I war aimin’ ter larrup Birt fur his sass, but I stopped ter hang up a skin ez I hed knocked down.  It never tuk me long, much, but when I went out, thar warn’t nobody ter be seen in the tanyard.”

He paused to place one foot upon the wooden horse, and he leaned forward with a reflective expression, his elbow on his knee, and his hand holding his bearded chin.

The afternoon was waning.  The scarlet sun in magnified splendor was ablaze low down in the saffron west.  The world seemed languorously afloat in the deep, serene flood of light.  Shadows were lengthening slowly.  The clangor of a cow-bell vibrated in the distance.

The drone of Andy Byers’s voice overbore it as he recommenced.

“Waal, I was sorter conflusticated, an’ I looked round powerful sharp ter see whar Birt hed disappeared to.  I happened ter cut my eye round at that thar pit ez he hed finished layin’ the tan in, an’ kivered with boards, an’ weighted with rocks that day ez ye an’ me hed ter go an’ attend on old Mrs. Price.  Ye know we counted ez that thar pit wouldn’t be opened ag’in fur a right smart time?”

The tanner nodded assent.

“Waal, I noticed ez the aidge o’ one o’ them boards war sot sorter catawampus, an’ I ’lowed ez ’t war the wind ez hed ’sturbed it.  Ez I stooped down ter move it back in its place, I seen su’thin’ white under it.  So I lifted the board, an’ thar I see, lyin’ on the tan a-top o’ the pit, a stiff white paper.  I looked round toward the shed, an’ thar hung the coat yit - with nuthin’ in the pocket.  I didn’t know edzactly what ter make of it, an’ I jes’ shunted the plank back over the paper in the pit like I fund it, an’ waited ter see what mought happen.  An’ all the time ez that thar racket war goin’ on bout’n the grant, I knowed powerful well whar ’t war, an’ who stole it.”

Birt looked from one to the other of the two men.  Both evidently believed every syllable of this story.  It was so natural, so credible, that he had a curious sense of inclining toward it, too.  Had he indeed, in some aberration, taken the grant?  Was it some tricksy spirit in his likeness that had peered through the chinking at Andy Byers?

He could find no words to contend further.  He sat silent, numb, dumfounded.

“Birt,” said the tanner coaxingly, “thar ain’t no use in denyin’ it enny mo’.  Let’s go an’ git that grant, an’ take it ter Nate an’ tell the truth.”

The words roused Birt.  He clutched at the idea of getting possession of the paper that had so mysteriously disappeared and baffled and eluded him.  He could at least return it.  And even if this should fail to secure him lenient treatment, he would feel that he had done right.  He rose suddenly in feverish anxiety.

Andy Byers and Perkins, exchanging a wink of congratulation, followed him to the pit.

“It air under this hyar board,” said Byers, moving one of the heavy stones, and lifting a broad plank.

Perkins pressed forward with eager curiosity, never having seen this famous grant.

The ground bark on the surface was pretty dry, the layer being ten or fifteen inches thick, and the tanning infusion had not yet risen through it.

Byers stared with a frown at the tan, and lifted another board.  Nothing appeared beneath it on the smooth surface of the bark.

In sudden alarm they took away the boards, one after another, till all were removed, and the whole surface of the pit was exposed.

Then they looked at each other, bewildered.  For once more the grant was gone.

CHAPTER XII.

Jubal Perkins broke the silence.

“Andy Byers,” he exclaimed wrathfully, “what sort ’n tale is this ez ye air tryin’ ter fool me with?”

Byers, perturbed and indignant, was instantly ready to accuse Birt.

“Ye hev been hyar an’ got the grant an’ sneaked it off agin, hev ye!” he cried, scowling at the boy.

Then he turned to the tanner.  “I hope I may drap dead, Jube,” he said earnestly, “ef that grant warn’t right hyar” - he pointed at the spot - ”las’ night whenst I lef’ the tanyard.  I always looked late every evenin’ ter be sure it hedn’t been teched, thinkin’ I’d make up my mind in the night whether I’d tell on Birt, or no.  But I never could git plumb sati’fied what to do.”

His tone carried conviction.  The tanner looked at Birt with disappointment in every line of his face.  There was severity, too, in his expression.  He was beginning to admit the fitness of harsh punishment in this case.

“Ye don’t wuth all this gabblin’ an’ jawin’ over ye, ye miser’ble leetle critter,” he said.  “An’ I ain’t goin’ ter waste another breath on ye.”

Birt stood vacantly staring at the tan.  All the energy of the truth was nullified by the futility of protestation.

The two men exchanged a glance of vague comment upon his silence, and then they too looked idly down at the pit.

Tennessee abruptly caught Birt’s listless hand as it hung at his side, for Towse had suddenly entered the tanyard, and prancing up to her in joyous recognition, was trying to lick her face.

“G’way, Towse,” she drawled gutturally.  She struck vaguely at him with her chubby little fist, which he waggishly took between his teeth in a gingerly gentle grip.

“Stand back thar, Tennessee,” Birt murmured mechanically.

As usual, Towse was the precursor of Rufe, who presently dawdled out from the underbrush.  He quickened his steps upon observing the intent attitude of the party, and as he came up he demanded vivaciously, “What ails that thar pit o’ yourn, Mister Perkins? - thought ye said ’t warn’t goin’ ter be opened ag’in fore-shortly.”

For a moment the tanner made no reply.  Then he drawled absently, “Nuthin’ ails the pit, Rufe - nuthin’.”

Rufe sat down on the edge of it, and gazed speculatively at it.  Presently he began anew, unabashed by the silence of the grave and contemplative group.

“This hyar tan hev got sorter moist atop now; I wonder ef that thar grant o’ Nate’s got spi’led ennywise with the damp.”

Birt winced.  It had been a certain mitigation of his trouble that, thanks to his mother’s caution, the children at home knew nothing of the disgrace that had fallen upon him, and that there, at least, the atmosphere was untainted with suspicion.

The next moment he was impressed by the singularity of Rufe’s mention of the missing grant and its place of concealment.

“Look-a-hyar, Rufe,” he exclaimed, excitedly; “how d’ye know ennything ’bout Nate’s grant an’ whar ’t war hid?”

Rufe glanced up scornfully, insulted in some occult manner by the question.

“How did I know, Birt Dicey?  How d’ye know yerse’f?” he retorted.  “I knows a heap, ginerally.”

Perkins, catching the drift of Birt’s intention, came to the rescue.

“Say, bub, how d’ye know the grant war ever put hyar?”

“Kase,” responded Rufe, more amicably, “I seen it put hyar - right yander.”

He indicated the spot where the paper lay, according to Byers, when it was discovered.

Birt could hardly breathe.  His anxieties, his hopes, his fears, seemed a pursuing pack before which he was almost spent.  He panted like a hunted creature.  Tennessee was swinging herself to and fro, holding by his hand.  Sometimes she caught at Towse’s unlovely ear, as he sat close by with his tongue lolled out and an attentive air, as if he were assisting at the discussion.

“Who put it thar, bub?” demanded Perkins.

It would not have surprised Birt, so perverse had been the course of events, if Rufe had accused him on the spot.

“Pig-wigs Griggs,” replied Rufe, unexpectedly.

A glance of intelligence passed between the men.

“Tell ’bout it, Rufe,” said the tanner, suppressing all appearance of excitement.

“Ye ain’t goin’ ter do nuthin’ ter Pig-wigs fur foolin’ with yer pit, ef I tell ye?” asked Rufe, quickly.

“Naw, bub, naw.  Which Griggs do ye call ‘Pig-wigs?’”

“Why -

Pig-wigs

,” Rufe reiterated obviously.

Then he explained.  “He air Nate’s nevy.  He air Nate’s oldest brother’s biggest boy, - though he ain’t sizable much.  He air ’bout haffen ez big ez me - ef that,” he added reflectively, thinking that even thus divided he had represented Pig-wigs as more massive than the facts justified.

“Ye see,” he continued, “one day when his uncle Tim war over hyar ter the tanyard, I gin him one o’ my game deedies; an’ ez soon ez he got home he showed ’em all that thar deedie - powerful, spryest poultry ye ever see!”

Rufe smiled ecstatically as only a chicken fancier can.

“An’ Pig-wigs war plumb

de

-stracted fur a deedie too.  An’ he run all the way over hyar ter git me ter gin him one.  But the deedies hed all gone ter bed, an’ the old hen war hoverin’ of ’em, an’ I didn’t want ter ’sturb ’em,” said Rufe considerately.  “So I tole Pig-wigs ter meet me at the tanyard early, an’ I’d fetch him one.  An’ ez his granny war goin’ visitin’ her merried daughter, she let him ride behind her on thar sorrel mare ez fur ez the tanyard.  So he got hyar ’fore I did.  An’ I kem an’ gin him the deedie.”

Rufe paused abruptly, as if, having narrated this important transaction, he had exhausted the interest of the subject.

Byers was about to speak, but the tanner with a gesture repressed him.

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