old atmosphere of brave, sunny cheer and simple self-trust that won people to
him.

The Major and old Joel had talked late that night after Jack's trial. The
Major had come down to find out who Chad was, if possible, and to take him
back home, no matter who he might be. The old hunter looked long into the
fire.

"Co'se I know hit 'ud be better fer Chad, but, Lawd, how we'd hate to give
him up. Still, I reckon I'll have to let him go, but I can stand hit better,
if you can git him to leave Jack hyeh." The Major smiled. Did old Joel know
where Nathan Cherry lived? The old hunter did. Nathan was a "damned old
skinflint who lived across the mountain on Stone Creek--who stole other
folks' farms and if he knew anything about Chad the old hunter would squeeze
it out of his throat; and if old Nathan, learning where Chad now was, tried
to pester him he would break every bone in the skinflint's body." So the
Major and old Joel rode over next day to see Nathan, and Nathan with his
shifting eyes told them Chad's story in a high, cracked voice that, recalling
Chad's imitation of it, made the Major laugh. Chad was a foundling, Nathan
said: his mother was dead and his father had gone off to the Mexican War and
never come back: he had taken the mother in himself and Chad had been born in
his own house, when he lived farther up the river, and the boy had begun to
run away as soon as he was old enough to toddle. And with each sentence
Nathan would call for confirmation on a silent, dark-faced daughter who sat
inside: "Didn't he, Betsy?" or "Wasn't he, gal?" And the girl would nod
sullenly, but say nothing. It seemed a hopeless mission except that, on the
way back, the Major learned that there were one or two Bufords living down
the Cumberland, and like old Joel, shook his head over Nathan's pharisaical
philanthropy to a homeless boy and wondered what the motive under it was--but
he went back with the old hunter and tried to get Chad to go home with him.