"Yes," said the colonel encouragingly, ignorant of the coon, but knowing that there was only one hill.
"Well, Jedge Barbour's niggers always said dat de coon was dere coon, 'ca'se he was treed on dere lan', and we 'sputed dat it was our coon, 'ca'se it was on our lan'."
"Who got de coon?" asked Fitz.
"Oh, we got the coon!" And Chad's eyes twinkled.
"That settles it. It's your land, Colonel," said Fitz, with one of his sudden roars, in which everybody joined but Chad and the judge.
"But den, gemmen,"—Chad was a little uncomfortable at the merriment,—"it was our coon for sho. I knowed whar de line went, 'ca'se I he'p Marsa John caarry de spy-glass when he sold de woodlan's to Jedge Barbour, an' de coon was on our side ob dat line."
If Chad's first statement caused nothing but laughter, the second produced nothing but the profoundest interest.
Here was the surveyor himself!
The colonel turned the map to Chad's side of the table. Every man in the room stood up and craned his head forward.
"Now, Chad," said the colonel, "this map is a plan of our lan'—same as if you were lookin' down on it. Here is the road to Caartersville. See that square, black mark? That's Caarter Hall. This is the marsh, and that is the coal hill. Now, standin' here in the marsh,—this is where our line begins, Fitz,—standin' here, Chad, in the marsh, which side of the line is that hill on? Mine or Jedge Barbour's?"