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Updated: June 1, 2025
But he was still alive the following morning when the chill, clouded day broke, and a happy thought occurred to old Clenk. Throughout his illness the child had instinctively refused the coarse food proffered him, and this was brought anew to their notice when they paused to eat their scanty rations in a deep, secluded dell.
He approached the bunk, and with an insidious craft sought to draw the old man out. But Clenk was now on his guard. His comrades had bitterly upbraided him with his self-betrayal, that indeed threatened the safety of all.
Most of the men took no notice whatever of his callow demonstrations of wrath, though old Clenk, with a curious duality of mental process, laughed indulgently at his antics of infantile rage, despite his own absorptions, his sense of danger, his smart of loss and wreck of prospects.
"Breakfast, Bub this is the 'tother end of the day," Clenk explained, preparing to broil slices of meat on the coals. There was soon a johnny-cake baked on a board set up before the flames, but the pork was evidently a new proposition to the small captive, and although he eyed it greedily he could make no compact with it.
"Yes, yes," Clenk assured him. They were making ready to leave now, though not in that boat. "An' look-a-hyar! What a pretty! Ye kin hev this ter play with ef ye will be good." He led the little boy up to a tallow dip blazing on the head of a barrel, that he might have light to examine the token.
It was the nooning hour, and the men at their limited leisure lay in the sun on the piles of lumber, like lizards. "Gee!" exclaimed one burly fellow, rising on his elbow. "How I'd like ter git my paw on that reward five thousand dollars for any information!" "I'm in fur money ez sure ez ye air born! All signs favor," exclaimed old Clenk eagerly. "I dream about money mighty nigh every night.
Still staring, the little boy began slowly to shake his head in negation. "What's yer name, Squair? What's yer name?" But the child still stared silently, either uncomprehending or perceiving that his safety lay in incompetency. Clenk rose to his feet in sudden relief. "He don't sense nuthin'! He's too little to talk. He can't tell wuth shucks!
They will scour the kentry fur Bubby ef thar ain't su'thin' positive ter make them sure ez he be dead, too." Jubal Clenk, so readily cast down, meditated dolorously, as he sat still in the boat, on this signal omission in the chain of evidence. "It would sure hev made it all 'pear a heap mo' like an accident," he said disconsolately.
All at once his eyes, glancing over his shoulder, lighted on Bayne, who had just come to call on the ladies and now stood at the bottom of the flight of the terrace steps. Clenk drew back with an obvious shock. "Why, look-a-hyar, you ain't Mr. Briscoe!" he exclaimed insistently, as with a desire to reassure himself. His eyes large, light, distended, were starting out of his head.
"But they do tell what he looks like!" exclaimed the reader. "Here it all is: blue eyes, golden hair, fair skin, rosy cheeks " "Cutest leetle trick!" exclaimed old Clenk, with a reminiscent smile at the image thus conjured up. The words passed unnoticed save by Drann and Holvey.
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