9239

AYBURN MILLER and Alan spent that day on the river trying to catch fish, but with no luck at all, returning empty-handed to the farm-house for a late dinner. They passed the afternoon at target-shooting on the lawn with rifles and revolvers, ending the day by a reckless ride on their horses across the fields, over fences and ditches, after the manner of fox-hunting, a sport not often indulged in in that part of the country.

In the evening as they sat in the big sitting-room, smoking after-supper cigars, accompanied by Abner Daniel, with his long, cane-stemmed pipe, Mrs. Bishop came into the room, in her quiet way, smoothing her apron with her delicate hands.

"Pole Baker's rid up an' hitched at the front gate," she said. "Did you send 'im to town fer anything, Alan?"

"No, mother," replied her son. "I reckon he's come to get more meat. Is father out there?"

"I think he's some'r's about the stable," said Mrs. Bishop.

Miller laughed. "I guess Pole isn't the best pay in the world, is he?"

"Father never weighs or keeps account of anything he gets," said Alan. "They both make a guess at it, when cotton is sold. Father calls it 'lumping' the thing, and usually Pole gets the lump. But he's all right, and I wish we could do more for him. Father was really thinking about helping him in some substantial way when the crash came—"

"Thar!" broke in Daniel, with a gurgling laugh, "I've won my bet. I bet to myse'f jest now that ten minutes wouldn't pass 'fore Craig an' his bu'st-up would be mentioned."

"We have been at it, off and on, all day," said Miller, with a low laugh. "The truth is, it makes me madder than anything I ever encountered."

"Do you know why?" asked Abner, seriously, just as Pole Baker came through the dining-room and leaned against the door-jamb facing them. "It's beca'se"—nodding a greeting to Pole along with the others—"it's beca'se you know in reason that he's got that money."

"Oh, I wouldn't say that," protested Miller, in the tone of a man of broad experience in worldly affairs. "I wouldn't say that."

"Well, I would, an' do," said Abner, in the full tone of decision. "I know he's got it!"

"Well, yo' re wrong thar, Uncle Ab," said Pole, striding forward and sinking into a chair. "You've got as good jedgment as any man I ever run across. I thought like you do once. I'd 'a' tuck my oath that he had it about two hours by sun this evenin', but I kin swear he hain't a cent of it now."

"Do you mean that, Pole?" Abner stared across the wide hearth at him fixedly.

"He hain't got it, Uncle Ab." Pole was beginning to smile mysteriously. "He did have it, but he hain't got it now. I got it from 'im, blast his ugly pictur'!"

"You got it?" gasped Daniel. "You?"

"Yes. I made up my mind he had it, an' it deviled me so much that I determined to have it by hook or crook, ef it killed me, or put me in hock the rest o' my life." Pole rose and took a packet wrapped in brown paper from under his rough coat and laid it on the table near Alan. "God bless you, old boy," he said, "thar's yore money! It's all thar. I counted it. It's in fifties an' hundreds."

Breathlessly, and with expanded eyes, Alan broke the string about the packet and opened it.

"Great God!" he muttered.

Miller sprang up and looked at the stack of bills, but said nothing. Abner, leaning forward, uttered a little, low laugh.

"You—you didn't kill 'im, did you, Pole, old boy—you didn't, did you?" he asked.

"Didn't harm a hair of his head," said Pole. "All I wanted was Alan' s money, an' thar it is!"

"Well," grunted Daniel, "I'm glad you spared his life. And I thank God you got the money."

Miller was now hurriedly running over the bills.

"You say you counted it, Baker?" he said, pale with pleased excitement.

"Three times; fust when it was turned over to me, an' twice on the way out heer from town."

Mrs. Bishop had not spoken until now, standing in the shadows of the others as if bewildered by what seemed a mocking impossibility.

"Is it our money—is it our'n?" she finally found voice to say. "Oh, is it, Pole?"

"Yes, 'm," replied Pole. "It's yo'rn." He produced a crumpled piece of paper and handed it to Miller. "Heer's Craig's order on his wife fer it, an' in it he acknowledges it's the cash deposited by Mr. Bishop. He won't give me no trouble. I've got 'im fixed. He 'll leave Darley in the mornin'. He's afeerd this 'll git out an' he 'll be lynched."

Alan was profoundly moved. He transferred his gaze from the money to Pole's face, and leaned towards him.

"You did it out of friendship for me," he said, his voice shaking.

"That's what I did it fer, Alan, an' I wish I could do it over agin. When I laid hold o' that wad an' knowed it was the thing you wanted more'n anything else, I felt like flyin'."

"Tell us all about it, Baker," said Miller, wrapping up the stack of bills.

"All right," said Pole, but Mrs. Bishop interrupted him.

"Wait fer Alfred," she said, her voice rising and cracking in delight. "Wait; I 'll run find 'im."

She went out through the dining-room towards the stables, calling her husband at every step. "Alfred, oh, Alfred!"

"Heer!" she heard him call out from one of the stables.

She leaned over the fence opposite the closed door, behind which she had heard his voice.

"Oh, Alfred!" she called, "come out, quick! I've got news fer you—big, big news!"

She heard him grumbling as he emptied some ears of corn into the trough of the stall containing Alan' s favorite horse, and then with a growl he emerged into the starlight.

"That fool nigger only give Alan's hoss six ears o' corn," he fumed. "I know, beca'se I counted the cobs; the hoss had licked the trough clean, an' gnawed the ends o' the cobs. ............