"He's been over to the home place to see his sister Jane," volunteered
Uncle Jordan, again on his way to the village with eggs. "She ain't
never got married, and he ain't never got married. Old Squire Ward
left his whole property to the two of 'em, and the Kun'l ain't ever
let it be divided. He runs the whole estate and domineers over her,
and she don't dast to say her soul's her own. If I was Jane I'd have
my half out and git married to some nice man, and git a little comfort
out'n life. He don't give her none--don't let her have the handlin'
of a cent of money. She's a turrible nice sort of woman. There's
risin' a hundred thousand dollars in her share, if the truth was known,
and there's been some pretty good men shine up around her a little,
but the Kun'l has run 'em away with a picked stick."

"Has, hey?"

"There ain't no Jack the Giant-Killers in these parts," sighed Old
Man Jordan, hooking his bucket upon his arm and shambling away.

For several days Cap'n Sproul was busy about the gable end of the
bridge during his spare moments and hours, climbing up and down the
ladder, and handling a rope and certain pulleys with sailor dexterity.
All the time his grim jaw-muscles ridged his cheeks. When he had
finished he had a rope running through pulleys from the big gate up
over the gable of the bridge and to the porch of the toll-house.

"There," he muttered, with great satisfaction, "that's the first
bear-trap I ever set, and it ain't no extra sort of job, but I reckon
when old grizzly goes ag'inst it he'll cal'late that this 'ere is
a toll-bridge."