There was a film of tears in Brant’s eyes when, at last, he put the head of the dog softly back on the earth, and stood up, and turned toward the mountaineer. He made explanation with simple directness. The negro was a notorious outlaw, for whose capture the authorities of Elizabeth City offered a 51 reward of five hundred dollars. Half of this sum would be duly paid to Zeke.
This news stirred the young man to the deeps. To his poverty-stricken experience, the amount was princely. The mere mention of it made privations to vanish away, luxuries to flourish. He had roseate visions of lavish expenditures: a warm coat for the old mother, furbelows for Plutina, “straighteners” even, if she would have them. The dreamer blushed at the intimacy of his thought. It did not occur to his frugal soul that now he need not continue on The Bonita, but might instead go easily to New York by train. He was naïvely happy in this influx of good fortune, and showed his emotion in the deepened color under the tan of his cheeks and in the dancing lights of the steady eyes.
“I’m shore plumb glad I kotched him,” he said eagerly, “if thar’s a right smart o’ money in hit. If he’s as right-down bad as ye says he is, I’m powerfully sorry I didn’t wing ’im ’fore he got yer dawg.”
Brant shook his head regretfully.
“It’s my fault,” he confessed. “I oughtn’t to have taken the chance with Bruno alone. I should have had Jack along, too. With more than one dog, a man won’t stand against ’em. He’ll take to a tree.” He shook off the depression that descended as he glanced down at the stiffening body 52 of the beast. There was a forced cheerfulness in his tones when he continued: “But how did you get into the swamp? I take you to be from the mountains.”
Zeke’s manner suddenly indicated no small pride.
“I’m a sailor, suh,” he explained, with great dignity. “I’m the cookin’ chief on the fishin’ steamer, Bonita.”
Brant surveyed the mountaineer with quizzically appraising eyes.
“Been a sailor long?” he questioned, innocently.
“Wall, no, I hain’t,” Zeke conceded. His voice was reluctant. “I was only tuk on las’ night. I hain’t rightly begun sailorin’ yit. Thet’s how I c’d come arter thet gobbler.” He pointed to the bird lying at the foot of the cypress. Abruptly, his thoughts veered again to the reward. “Oh, cracky! Jest think of all thet money earned in two minutes! Hit’s what I come down out o’ the mountains fer, an’ hit ’pears like I done right. I’d shore be tickled to see all thet-thar money in dimes an’ nickels, n’ mebby a few quarters thrown in!”