Dan did not say what he should do, but he shook his head in the most threatening manner, and having drawn on his clothes, clapped his hat on his head, and hurried out of the door. His father looked at him as he disappeared around the corner of the cabin, but made no sign beyond looking in at the door to satisfy himself that the rawhide was hanging in its accustomed place. In a few minutes Dan returned and confronted his sire. His face wore a fierce frown, and he looked mad enough for almost anything. He began operations by jumping up and knocking his heels together, coming down with a jar and with his feet spread out as if he were bracing himself for a shock of some kind. This is an indispensable prelude to all games of fisticuffs in the South and West. No backwoods pugilist ever thinks of going into a fight without thus preparing himself for it. Sometimes a few Indian yells, given with all the power of the lungs, help matters wonderfully. Dan went through the performance just to show his father how angry he was, and to give him some idea of the damage he would do if he only possessed the power. Godfrey looked pleasantly at him, and seated himself on the bench. “Give me them six dollars an’ six bits, dog-gone my buttons,” sputtered Dan, who could hardly speak plainly enough to be understood. Then he seemed to regain control of his tongue, and without giving his father a chance to reply, went on: “I knowed yesterday that ye was up to something,” said he, “an’ I knowed this mornin’ when I first seed ye a struttin’ about, that ye’d been an’ done some mean trick. You’ve been a pokin’ into my things. You’ve got my money an’ my powder an’ lead, an’ I want ’em. The money’s mine, an’ I----” “It’s your’n, is it?” exclaimed Godfrey. “Whar did ye get it, an’ how come ye by it?” “Didn’t I tell ye I got three an’ a half fur that hind quarter of beef?” “Yes, but whar did ye get the rest?” “Didn’t ye tell me it didn’t make no odds to ye whar I got it so long as I did get it?” asked Dan. “That was yesterday,” answered Godfrey. “It didn’t make no odds to me yesterday, but it’s to-morrer now, an’ it makes a heap of odds. It’s my bounden duty to find out whar ye got it an’ how ye came by it, kase mebbe it wasn’t honest.” “Whoop!” yelled Dan, jumping up and knocking his heels together in the excess of his rage. “Honest! It’s a heap honester nor it is to go arter dark into a man’s tater-patch an’ dig up the bar’l o’ money he’s got kivered up thar. Now, ole man, I’ll tell ye what’s the gospel truth about that thar bar’l,” added Dan, a bright idea striking him. “If ye’ll give my money back to me, I won’t say nothing about it; but if ye don’t, I’ll go straight to the gen’ral----” “Whoop!” shouted Godfrey, in his turn.