CHAPTER VIII.
DAN MAKES A DISCOVERY.
THE next morning, long before the sun showed himself above the tree-tops, the Evans family were all astir. They always rose at an early hour, and it was probably more from the force of habit than for any other reason, for, with the exception of Mrs. Evans, none of them did any work until after they had eaten breakfast. Even the chores were left until the male members of the family had broken their fast, for Godfrey declared that it was not healthy, in that climate, to breathe too much of the early morning air, it was so laden with miasma and the seeds of fever and ague; but he did not seem to think it at all injurious if inhaled through the fumes of tobacco smoke, and while seated on the bench beside the cabin door. That bench served Godfrey in lieu of an easy-chair. When he was not hunting in the woods or loafing at the landing, he was always to be found there, smoking and thinking.
On the morning of this particular day, Godfrey arose from his “shake down” with the air of a lord, and astonished two members of his family and alarmed another, by giving them all a hearty greeting. When he had dressed himself he filled his pipe, and walking out of the door with a slow and dignified step, stood with his hands on his hips, looking about him as if he were monarch of all he surveyed. Mrs. Evans said to herself that that was the way he used to act in the good old days; while Dan communed thus with himself:
“If me an’ pop had been out a diggin’ fur that thar bar’l last night, an’ had done found it, I should know that that was what ails him this mornin’; but seein’ we didn’t dig fur the bar’l, I don’t know what’s the matter of him. He don’t walk with that big leg, an’ sling on all them extry frills, fur nothin’, an’ I’m afeared he’s smelled out somethin’. If he has——”
Dan did not say what he should do, but he shook his head in the most threatening manner, and having drawn on his clothes, clapped his hat on his head, and hurried out of the door. His father looked at him as he disappeared around the corner of the cabin, but made no sign beyond looking in at the door to satisfy himself that the rawhide was hanging in its accustomed place.
In a few minutes Dan returned and confronted his sire. His face wore a fierce frown, and he looked mad enough for almost anything. He began operations by jumping up and knocking his heels together, coming down with a jar and with his feet spread out as if he were bracing himself for a shock of some kind. This is an indispensable prelude to all games of fisticuffs in the South and West. No backwoods pugilist ever thinks of going into a fight without thus preparing himself for it. Sometimes a few Indian yells, given with all the power of the lungs, help matters wonderfully. Dan went through the performance just to show his father how angry he was, and to give him some idea of the damage he would do if he only possessed the power. Godfrey looked pleasantly at him, and seated himself on the bench.
“Give me them six dollars an’ six bits, dog-gone my buttons,” sputtered Dan, who could hardly speak plainly enough to be understood. Then he seemed to regain control of his tongue, and without giving his father a chance to reply, went on: “I knowed yesterday that ye was up to something,” said he, “an’ I knowed this mornin’ when I first seed ye a struttin’ about, that ye’d been an’ done some mean trick. You’ve been a pokin’ into my things. You’ve got my money an’ my powder an’ lead, an’ I want ’em. The money’s mine, an’ I——”
“It’s your’n, is it?” exclaimed Godfrey. “Whar did ye get it, an’ how come ye by it?”
“Didn’t I tell ye I got three an’ a half fur that hind quarter of beef?”
“Yes, but whar did ye get the rest?”