The timber they cut was all on our plantation, and father had so much confidence in their honesty that he never measured the rafts when they came out, but accepted the money Mr. Lamar offered him without asking any questions.
Jerry was one of the best boys I ever knew. Honest, good-natured and accommodating, he was beloved by every body (except old General Mason, who cared for no one but himself and his graceless nephew), and he would have been one of our fellows if he could have found time to accompany us on our expeditions; but he was too poor to own a horse or gun, and was obliged to work steadily from one year’s end to another. He was ambitious and tried hard to better his condition, but somehow he always had bad luck.
General Mason (I do not know why people called him “General,” unless it was because he had plenty of money, for he never held a military commission in his life) was continually getting himself or somebody else into trouble.
He had long shown a disposition to persecute Mr. Lamar, because the latter refused to buy his timber in the swamps at double its value, and Mark and I had no hesitation in affirming that he had brought this charge against Jerry to be revenged on his father.
“I don’t believe a word of it,” said I.
“Any one who knows Jerry Lamar would never suspect him of such a thing,” chimed in Mark.
“I am sorry to say, fellers, that thar’s no mistake about it—that is, as fur as his bein’ in jail is consarned, ’cause my father seed him when he was goin’ in. He’s down stairs now, pap is, talkin’ to your folks about goin’ Jerry’s bail.”
“Is there nothing we can do for him?” I asked.
“We can at least go down and see him, and assure him of our sympathy,” said Mark.
“That’s jest what I thought,” replied Sandy. “I will ride over arter Duke and Herbert, and by the time I get back you can be ready.”