As soon as Julian had been securely bound, Jack set himself to work to overhaul his pockets, searching—not for concealed weapons, but for the money belonging to the prisoner. A very short investigation, however, served to satisfy him that the coveted treasure was not hidden about Julian’s person, and with an expression of almost ungovernable fury on his face he left him and began to search the camp. He picked up the prisoner’s blankets, shook them thoroughly, threw aside the leaves which the boy had scraped together to serve as a mattress, and looked into every hollow stump and under every log on the bluff; but nothing in the shape of a box or pocket-book could he find.
“Whar is it?” he roared, unable to contain himself longer.
“Wal, you’ve got _some_. Whar is it, I axes ye?”
“It is concealed where you will never think of looking for it, and there it shall stay.”
“I’ll bet a hoss that it don’t stay thar,” shouted Jack, stamping the ground and shaking his fists in his rage. “Mark my words. Afore I’m done with ye, ye’ll come to this bluff an’ give me that money with yer own hands.”
“And mark _my_ words,” replied Julian calmly. “I shall do nothing of the kind. I’ll die first. It is mine—you’ve no right to it, and you shan’t have it.”
“Never mind the money now, Bowles,” exclaimed Mr. Mortimer, who was becoming impatient at the delay. “You will have plenty of time to hunt for it after your return from New Orleans. We must begin our journey at once.”
Jack, reluctant to abandon the search, took another turn about the camp, and after venting some of his spite by pulling down Julian’s brush cabin and kicking over the squirrels that were broiling before the fire, picked up the blankets and the rifle, and seizing the boy roughly by the arm hurried him down the bluff. After placing him behind Mr. Mortimer on his horse he disappeared in the woods and presently returned, mounted on his own nag, and led the way toward the clearing. He did not follow the road, as Julian hoped he would, but to avoid meeting any of the settlers, held straight through the woods. He was moody and sullen during the whole of the ride, and the deep scowl on his forehead showed that he was thinking intently.
“The minute Julian drops overboard from the flatboat, that minute I shall have $200 put into my hands,” soliloquized Mr. Bowles. “That’s a monstrous heap of money fur a poor man like me, but I’d like to have them $145, too. Now how am I goin’ to get it? That’s what I’d like to know. I’ll never find it unless Julian tells me whar it is, an’ if he’s at the bottom of the river he _can’t_ tell me. Hain’t thar no way fur me to push him overboard without drownin’ him?”