The next moment he was impressed by the singularity of Rufe's mention of the missing grant and its place of concealment. "Look-a-hyar, Rufe," he exclaimed, excitedly; "how d'ye know ennything 'bout Nate's grant an' whar 't war hid?" Rufe glanced up scornfully, insulted in some occult manner by the question. "How did I know, Birt Dicey? How d'ye know yerse'f?" he retorted. "I knows a heap, ginerally." Perkins, catching the drift of Birt's intention, came to the rescue. "Say, bub, how d'ye know the grant war ever put hyar?" "Kase," responded Rufe, more amicably, "I seen it put hyar--right yander." He indicated the spot where the paper lay, according to Byers, when it was discovered. Birt could hardly breathe. His anxieties, his hopes, his fears, seemed a pursuing pack before which he was almost spent. He panted like a hunted creature. Tennessee was swinging herself to and fro, holding by his hand. Sometimes she caught at Towse's unlovely ear, as he sat close by with his tongue lolled out and an attentive air, as if he were assisting at the discussion. "Who put it thar, bub?" demanded Perkins. It would not have surprised Birt, so perverse had been the course of events, if Rufe had accused him on the spot. "Pig-wigs Griggs," replied Rufe, unexpectedly. A glance of intelligence passed between the men. "Tell 'bout it, Rufe," said the tanner, suppressing all appearance of excitement. "Ye ain't goin' ter do nuthin' ter Pig-wigs fur foolin' with yer pit, ef I tell ye?" asked Rufe, quickly. "Naw, bub, naw. Which Griggs do ye call 'Pig-wigs?'" "Why--PIG-WIGS," Rufe reiterated obviously. Then he explained. "He air Nate's nevy. He air Nate's oldest brother's biggest boy,--though he ain't sizable much. He air 'bout haffen ez big ez me--ef that," he added reflectively, thinking that even thus divided he had represented Pig-wigs as more massive than the facts justified. "Ye see," he continued, "one day when his uncle Tim war over hyar ter the tanyard, I gin him one o' my game deedies; an' ez soon ez he got home he showed 'em all that thar deedie--powerful, spryest poultry ye ever see!" Rufe smiled ecstatically as only a chicken fancier can. "An' Pig-wigs war plumb DE-stracted fur a deedie too. An' he run all the way over hyar ter git me ter gin him one. But the deedies hed all gone ter bed, an' the old hen war hoverin' of 'em, an' I didn't want ter 'sturb 'em," said Rufe considerately. "So I tole Pig-wigs ter meet me at the tanyard early, an' I'd fetch him one. An' ez his granny war goin' visitin' her merried daughter, she let him ride behind her on thar sorrel mare ez fur ez the tanyard. So he got hyar 'fore I did. An' I kem an' gin him the deedie." Rufe paused abruptly, as if, having narrated this important transaction, he had exhausted the interest of the subject. Byers was about to speak, but the tanner with a gesture repressed him. "Ye hain't tole 'bout the pit an' the grant yit, bubby," he reminded the small boy.