He could find no words to contend further.  He sat silent, numb, dumfounded.

“Birt,” said the tanner coaxingly, “thar ain’t no use in denyin’ it enny mo’.  Let’s go an’ git that grant, an’ take it ter Nate an’ tell the truth.”

The words roused Birt.  He clutched at the idea of getting possession of the paper that had so mysteriously disappeared and baffled and eluded him.  He could at least return it.  And even if this should fail to secure him lenient treatment, he would feel that he had done right.  He rose suddenly in feverish anxiety.

Andy Byers and Perkins, exchanging a wink of congratulation, followed him to the pit.

“It air under this hyar board,” said Byers, moving one of the heavy stones, and lifting a broad plank.

Perkins pressed forward with eager curiosity, never having seen this famous grant.

The ground bark on the surface was pretty dry, the layer being ten or fifteen inches thick, and the tanning infusion had not yet risen through it.

Byers stared with a frown at the tan, and lifted another board.  Nothing appeared beneath it on the smooth surface of the bark.

In sudden alarm they took away the boards, one after another, till all were removed, and the whole surface of the pit was exposed.

Then they looked at each other, bewildered.  For once more the grant was gone.

CHAPTER XII.

Jubal Perkins broke the silence.

“Andy Byers,” he exclaimed wrathfully, “what sort ’n tale is this ez ye air tryin’ ter fool me with?”

Byers, perturbed and indignant, was instantly ready to accuse Birt.

“Ye hev been hyar an’ got the grant an’ sneaked it off agin, hev ye!” he cried, scowling at the boy.

Then he turned to the tanner.  “I hope I may drap dead, Jube,” he said earnestly, “ef that grant warn’t right hyar”—­he pointed at the spot—­“las’ night whenst I lef’ the tanyard.  I always looked late every evenin’ ter be sure it hedn’t been teched, thinkin’ I’d make up my mind in the night whether I’d tell on Birt, or no.  But I never could git plumb sati’fied what to do.”

His tone carried conviction.  The tanner looked at Birt with disappointment in every line of his face.  There was severity, too, in his expression.  He was beginning to admit the fitness of harsh punishment in this case.

“Ye don’t wuth all this gabblin’ an’ jawin’ over ye, ye miser’ble leetle critter,” he said.  “An’ I ain’t goin’ ter waste another breath on ye.”

Birt stood vacantly staring at the tan.  All the energy of the truth was nullified by the futility of protestation.

The two men exchanged a glance of vague comment upon his silence, and then they too looked idly down at the pit.

Tennessee abruptly caught Birt’s listless hand as it hung at his side, for Towse had suddenly entered the tanyard, and prancing up to her in joyous recognition, was trying to lick her face.