corn-crap an' gyarden truck with sech a pack o' chill'n ter vittle
ez we-uns hev got at our house."

Nate deduced an unexpected conclusion. "Ye oughter gin me more'n
haffen the make," he said. "'Kase ef 'twarn't fur me, ye couldn't
git none. An' ef ye don't say two thurds, I'll tell every critter
on the mounting an' they'll be grabblin' in yer gold mine d'rec'ly."

"Ye dunno whar it is," said Birt, quietly.

If a sudden jet from the cold mountain torrent, that rioted through
the wilderness down the ravine hard by, had been dashed into Nate's
thin, sharp face, he could not have cooled more abruptly. The
change almost took his breath away.

"I don't mean THAT, nuther," he gasped with politic penitence, "kase
I hev promised not ter tell. I dunno whether I kin holp nohow. I
hev got ter do my sheer o' work at home; we ain't through pullin'
fodder off'n our late corn yit."

Birt looked at him in silent surprise.

Nate was older than his friend by several years. He was of an
unruly and insubordinate temper, and did as little work as he
pleased at home. He often remarked that he would like to see who
could make him do what he had no mind to do.

"Mebbe old Jube wouldn't want me round 'bout," he suggested.

"Waal," said Birt, eager again to detail his plans, "he 'lowed when