“I've got it. You ain't mad, be you, pap?”
“I ain't so scandalous mad now, but if I could have got my fingers into your collar about the time I was a shiverin' in my wet clothes, I'd a played 'Far'well to the Star Spangled Banner' on your back with a good hickory, I bet you!”
“'Kase if you be mad 'tain't my fault,” continued Dan. “I tried my level best to steal the canoe, but couldn't do it. It was locked up tighter'n a brick. I tried to get ten dollars fur you too, pap, but I couldn't do that nuther; so I brung Don Gordon's pinter along. Swum the bayou, I reckon, didn't you?”
“I didn't walk acrosst, did I? In course I swum it.”
“Your clothes ain't wet!”
“No, 'kase I went back in the woods an' built a fire an' dried 'em. Le's go back thar now, so't we kin talk. We don't want them fellers to hear us.”
“What be they doin' over thar, anyhow?” asked Dan.
“They're buildin' a bar trap, looks like. They'll be sartin to ketch one too, 'kase thar's a bar comes thar a'most every night. If I had a boat they wouldn't get much good of him arter they do ketch him.”
Dan handed his rifle to his father and went back after the pointer and his bundles; and when he came up again Godfrey led the way toward his temporary camp. He was gloomy and sullen, and there was an expression on his face which Dan did not like to see there, for it made him fear that a storm was brewing. But after they had been a few minutes in the camp, and Godfrey had filled his pipe and smoked a whiff or two, the scowl faded away and Dan began to breathe easier.
“I've put you in the way to make a dollar, pap,” said he, as soon as the soothing effects of the tobacco began to be perceptible. “If you'll take that pinter an' keep him till I call fur him, I'll give you half of what Don pays me to get him back.”