But Rufe was not selfish. He offered to give Tim one of the chicks. Now poultry was Tim’s weakness. He accepted with more haste than was seemly, and at once asked for the deedie in the small boy’s pocket. Rufe, however, refused to part from the chick of his adoption, and presently Tim, with the gun on his shoulder, left the tanyard in company with Rufe, to look over the brood of game chicks, and make a selection from among them.
Birt hardly noticed what they did or said. Every faculty was absorbed in considering the wily game which his false friend had played so successfully. It was all plain enough now. The fruit of his discovery would be plucked by other hands. There was to be no division of the profits. Nate Griggs had coveted the whole. His craft had secured it for himself alone. He had the legal title to the land, the mine - all! There seemed absolutely no vulnerable point in his scheme. With suddenly sharpened perceptions, Birt realized that if he should now claim the discovery and the consequent right of thirty days’ notice of Nate’s intention, by virtue of the priority of entering land accorded by the statute to the finder of a mine or valuable mineral, it would be considered a groundless boast, actuated by envy and jealousy. He had told no one but Nate of his discovery - and would not Nate now deny it!
However, one thing in the future was certain, - Nathan Griggs should not escape altogether scathless. For a long time Birt sat motionless, revolving vengeful purposes in his mind. Every moment he grew more bitter, as he reflected upon his wrecked scheme, his wonderful fatuity, and the double dealing of his chosen coadjutor. But he would get even with Nate Griggs yet; he promised himself that, - he would get even!
At last the falling darkness warned him home. When he rose his limbs trembled, his head was in a whirl, and the familiar scene swayed, strange and distorted, before him. He steadied himself after a moment, finished the odd jobs he had left undone, and presently was trudging homeward.
A heavy black cloud overhung the woods; an expectant stillness brooded upon the sultry world; an angry storm was in the air. The first vivid flash and simultaneous peal burst from the sky as he reached the passage between the two rooms.
“Ye air powerful perlite ter come a-steppin’ home jes’ at supper-time,” said his mother advancing to meet him. “Ye lef’ no wood hyar, an’ ye said ye would borry the mule, an’ come home early a-purpose to haul some. An’ me hyar with nuthin’ to cook supper with but sech chips an’ blocks an’ bresh ez I could pick up off’n the groun’.”
Birt’s troubles had crowded out the recollection of this domestic duty.
“I clean furgot,” he admitted, penitently. Then he asked suddenly, “An’ whar war Rufe, an’ Pete, an’ Joe, ez
ye
hed ter go ter pickin’ up of chips an’ sech off’n the groun’?”