“Did ye hit Tennessee?” he asked, with a dangerous light in his eyes.

“No—­I never!” Nate protested.  “I hain’t seen her till this minute.  She war standin’ a-hint ye.”

“Waal, ye skeered her, then,” said Birt, hardly appeased.  “Quit snappin’ that lash.  ’Pears-like ter me ez ye makes yerself powerful free round this hyar tanyard.”

“Tennie air a-growin’ wonderful fast,” the sly Nathan remarked pleasantly.

Birt softened instantly.  “She air a haffen inch higher ’n she war las’ March, ‘cordin’ ter the mark on the door,” he declared, pridefully.  “She ain’t pretty, I know, but she air powerful peart.”

“What war the word ez ye war layin’ off ter say ter me?” Nate asked, curiosity vividly expressed in his face.

Birt leaned back against the pile of bark and hesitated.  Last night he had thought Nate the most desirable person to whom he could confide his secret whose aid he could secure.  There were many circumstances that made this seem wise.  But when the disclosure was imminent, something in those small, bead-like eyes, unpleasantly close together, something in the expression of the thin, pale face, something in Nate’s voice and manner repelled confidence.

“Nate,” said Birt, at last, speaking with that subacute conviction, so strong yet so ill-defined, which vividly warns the ill-judged and yet cannot stop the tongue constrained by its own folly, “what d’ye s’pose I fund in the woods yestiddy?”

The two small eyes, set close together, seemed merged in one, so concentrated was their gaze.  Again their expression struck Birt’s attention.  He hesitated once more.  “Ef I tell ye, will ye promise never ter tell enny livin’ human critter?”

“I hope I may drap stone dead ef I ever tell!” Nate exclaimed.

“I fund a strange metal in the woods yestiddy.  What d’ye s’pose ’t war?”

Nate shook his head.  His breath was quick and he could not control the keen anxiety in his face.  A strong flush rose to the roots of his sandy hair, his lips quivered, and his small eyes glittered with greedy expectation.  His tongue refused to frame a word.

“Gold!” cried Birt, triumphantly.

“Whar be it?” exclaimed Nate.  He was about to start in full run for the spot.

“I ain’t agoin’ ter tell ye, without we-uns kin strike a trade.”

“Waal,” said Nate, with difficulty repressing his impatience, “what air you-uns aimin’ ter do?”

“Ye knows ez I hev ter bide hyar with the bark-mill mos’ly, jes’ now,” said Birt, beginning to expound the series of ideas which he had carefully worked out in his midnight vigil, “’kase they hev got ter hev a heap o’ tan ter fill them thar vats ag’in.  Ef I war ter leave an’ go a-gold huntin’, the men on the mounting would find out what I war arter, an’ they’d come a-grabblin’ thar too, an’ mebbe git it all, ’kase I dunno how much or how leetle thar be.  I wants ter make sure of enough ter buy a horse, or a mule, or su’thin’, ef I kin, ‘fore I tells ennybody else.  An’ I ‘lowed ez ye an’ me would go pardners.  Ye’d take my place hyar at the tanyard one day, whilst I dug, an’ I’d bide in the tanyard nex’ day.  An’ we would divide fair an’ even all we fund.”