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.