Adventure and adventurers -- Juvenile fiction; Children's stories
"Hasn't he, though!" cried Bob. "He got into my father's smoke-house
last night and stole some meal and bacon. He forced a lock to do it,
too. The law can touch him for that, can't it?"
David leaned against the fence and looked at the two boys without
speaking. He did not doubt Bob's story. He had been expecting to hear
of such things for a long time. He had told himself more than once
that when his father grew tired of living on squirrels, somebody's
smoke-house and corn-crib would be sure to suffer. Godfrey was
getting worse every day, and something told David that he would yet
perform an act that would set every man in the settlement on his
track.
"We can send him to prison," continued Bob. "You would not like that,
of course, and you can prevent it if you feel like it. Lester and I
are the only ones who know that he robbed my father last night, and
we will keep it to ourselves on one condition."
"I know what it is," said David. "You want me to promise that I will
trap no more quails. Perhaps you want the money yourselves."
"That's the very idea," said Lester.
"It isn't the money we care about," exclaimed Bob, quickly. "We've
set out to put down this business of trapping birds and shipping them
out of the country, and we're going to do it. You think that because
Don and Bert are backing you up, you can do just as you please; but
we'll show you that they don't run this settlement. You're getting
above your business, Dave, and it is high time you were taught a
lesson you will remember the longest day you live. What do you say?
Will you trap any more quails?"
"Yes, I will," replied David, without an instant's hesitation.
"Don't forget that we can put the constable on your father's track
to-morrow morning," said Bob, his voice trembling with rage.
"I wasn't thinking of my father. He has made his bed and he must lie
in it. I was thinking of my mother. She must have something to eat
and wear this winter, and how is she to get it, if I give up this
chance of making a little money?"
"Just listen to you, now!" Bob almost shouted. "One would think to
hear you talk that you are used to handling greenbacks by the bushel.
You are a pretty looking ragamuffin to call a hundred and fifty
dollars 'a little money,' are you not? It's more than your old
shantee and all you've got in it are worth. Go on!" he yelled,
shaking his riding whip at David, as the latter hurried down the road
toward home. "I'll send you word when to come down to the landing and
see your father go off to jail."
"I never saw such independence exhibited by a fellow in his
circumstances," said Lester, as he and Bob rode away together. "One
would think he was worth a million dollars."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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