"Whew!" whistled Don, opening his eyes and looking at Bert.

"I didn't want him to know anything about it," continued David, "for I was certain that he would make me trouble; but he found it out by listening while I was talking about it, and wanted to join in with me. I told him I didn't want him, and he said I shouldn't catch any birds."

"Did he say what he would do to prevent it?" asked Bert.

"O, it's easy enough to tell what he will do," exclaimed Don. "He'll steal or break the traps and kill the quails. There are plenty of ways in which he can trouble us, if he makes up his mind to it."

"Who is the other?" asked Bert.

"Lester Brigham."

Don whistled again, and then looked angry.

"When did you see him, and what did he have to say about it?" he asked. "Has he any reason to hold a grudge against you?"

"I didn't know that he had until I met him in the road this morning.

He says he won't have me trapping quails and sending them off North, because it will make them scarce here. He says he is going to get up a Sportsman's Club among the fellows, and then he will keep pot-hunters like me where we belong."

"Oho!" exclaimed Bert. "It seems to me that he is taking a good deal upon himself."

"That is what he has done ever since he has been here, and that's why there are so many boys in the settlement who don't like him," said Don. "But he mustn't meddle with this business. He can't come down here into a country that is almost a wilderness and manage matters as they do up North. Father told me the other day that in some states they have laws to protect game, and it is right that they should have, for there are so many hunters that if they were not restrained they would kill all the birds and animals in a single season. The most of the hunters live in the city, and when they get out with their guns they crack away at everything they see; and if they happen to kill a doe with a fawn at her side, or a quail with a brood of chicks, it makes no difference to them. Sportsman's Clubs are of some _use_ there, but we have no need of them in this country."

"He wants the quails left here, so that he can shoot them over his dog," continued David.

"O, he does! When is he going to begin? He has been here more than a year, and n.o.body has ever heard of his killing a quail yet. He must keep his fingers out of this pie. We can't put up with any interference from him. Any more bad news?" added Don, seeing that David's face had not yet wholly cleared up.

"Yes, there is," replied the latter, speaking rapidly, for fear that his courage might desert him again. "Just after you left me this morning, Silas Jones rode up and dunned me for eight dollars that father owes him."

"Why, you have nothing to do with that," said Bert.

"Nothing whatever," chimed in Don. "You tell Mr. Jones that if he wants his money he had better hunt up your father and ask him for it.

You don't owe him anything, do you?"

"No, but he says that if I don't settle that bill, he'll never let me have a thing at his store again unless I have the money in my hand to pay for it. I haven't a cent of my own, and I thought if you could let me have the ten dollars you promised me for breaking the pointer, I should be much obliged to you."

"If I would do what?" asked Don, in amazement.

"Why, David," said Bert, "the money was all paid to you in less than twenty-four hours after the dog was placed in your keeping."

"Paid to me?" gasped David.

"Well, no, not to you, but to your order."

"To my order!" repeated the boy, who began to think he was dreaming.

"Yes, to your order," said Don. "We left the pointer in your hands at noon, while you were at dinner. In less than an hour afterward, Dan came over and said that you wanted five dollars to buy a dress for your mother, and Bert gave him the money. The next forenoon your father met me at the landing and told me you wanted the other five to buy some medicine for your mother, who was ill with the ague, and I gave it to him, and I just know I made a mess of it," added Don, bringing his hands together with a loud slap.

It was plain from the looks of David's face that he had. The boy listened with eyes wide open, his under jaw dropping down and his face growing pale, as the duplicity of which his father and brother had been guilty was gradually made plain to him, and when at last his mind grasped the full import of Don's words, he covered his face with his hands and cried aloud. Don and Bert looked at him in surprise, and then turned and looked at each other. They who had never wanted for the necessities, and who had never but once, and that was during the war, lacked the luxuries of life, could not understand why his grief should be so overwhelming; but they could understand that they had been deceived, and even the gentle-spirited Bert was indignant over it. The impulsive Don could scarcely restrain himself. He walked angrily up and down the floor, thrashing his boots with his riding-whip and cracking it in the air so viciously that the ponies danced about in their stalls.

"Dave," said Bert, at length, "are we to understand that your father and brother came to us and got that money without any authority from you?"

"That's just what they did," sobbed David.

"And you never saw a cent of it?"

"Not one cent, or mother either."

"Well, what of it?" exclaimed Don. "Brace up and be a man, Dave. A ten-dollar bill is not an everlasting fortune."

"I know it isn't much to you, but it is a good deal to me. You don't know what the loss of it means. It means corn-bread and b.u.t.ter-milk for breakfast, dinner and supper."

"Well, what of that?" said Don, again. "I have eaten more than one dinner at the Gayoso House, in Memphis--and it is one of the best hotels in the country--when corn-bread and b.u.t.ter-milk were down in the bill of fare as part of the dessert."

"Well, if all the folks who stop at that hotel had to live on it, as we do, they would call for something else," replied David. "How am I to settle Silas Jones's bill, I'd like to know?"

"Never mind Silas Jones's bill. If he says anything more to you about it, tell him that you don't owe him a cent."

"And how am I to send my quails away? That man said the charges must be paid."

"Ah! that's a more serious matter," said Don, placing his hands on his hips, and looking down at the floor.

"It is all serious to me," said David, brushing the tears from his eyes, "but I'll work through somehow. I'll go home now and think about it, and if I don't earn that money in spite of all my bad luck, it will not be because I don't try."

"That's the way to talk," said Don, giving David an encouraging slap on the back. "That's the sort of spirit I like. Bert and I will see you again, perhaps this afternoon. In the meantime we'll talk the matter over, and if we three fellows are not smart enough to beat the two who are opposing us, we'll know the reason why."

David hurried out of the barn, in order to hide his tears, which every instant threatened to break forth afresh, and Don, turning to the hostler, ordered him to put the saddles on the ponies again.

"Father is down in the field," said he, to his brother, "and it may be two or three hours before he will come to the house. I can't wait so long, so we'll ride down there and talk the matter over with him.

He hasn't forgotten that he was a boy once himself, and he will tell us just what we ought to do."

The ponies were led out again in a few minutes, and Bert, having a.s.sisted his brother into the saddle, mounted his own nag, and the two rode down the lane toward the field. Of course they could talk about only one thing, and that was the ill-luck that seemed to meet their friend David at every turn. The longer Bert thought and talked of the trick that had been played upon himself and his brother, the more indignant he became; while Don, having had time to recover a little of his usual good nature, was more disposed to laugh over it.

He declared that it was the sharpest piece of business he had ever heard of, and wondered greatly that G.o.dfrey and Dan, whom he had always believed to be as stupid as so many blocks, should have suddenly exhibited so much shrewdness. Bert declared that it was a wicked swindle; and the earnestness with which he denounced the whole proceeding made Don laugh louder than ever. Of course the latter did not forget that the trick which so highly amused him, had been the means of placing David in a very unpleasant situation, but still he did not think much about that, for he believed that his father would be able to make some suggestions, which, if acted upon, would straighten things out in short order.

"Well, Don, how does it seem, to find yourself in the saddle again?

You appear to enjoy the exercise, but Bert doesn't. He looks as though he had lost his last friend."

This was the way General Gordon greeted his boys, when they rode up beside the stump on which he was seated, superintending the negroes who were at work in the field. Bert brightened up at once, but replied that he thought he had good cause to look down-hearted, and with this introduction he went on and told David's story just as the latter had told it to him and his brother. The General listened good-naturedly, as he always did to anything his boys had to tell him, and when Bert ceased speaking, he pulled off a piece of the stump and began to whittle it with his knife. The boys waited for him to say something, but as he did not, Bert continued:

"We came down here to ask you what we ought to do about it, and we want particularly to know your opinion concerning the trick Dan and his father played on us."

"That is easily given," replied the General. "My opinion is that Master Don is just ten dollars out of pocket."

"You don't mean that I must pay it over again?" exclaimed Don.

"No, I don't mean that, because you haven't paid it at all."

"Why, father, I----"

"I understand. Dan made a demand upon Bert, and Bert borrowed five dollars of his mother and gave it to him. G.o.dfrey came to you for the other five, and you gave it to him. David has not yet been paid for breaking the pointer."