“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.