“Ten by six ought to be about right,” answered Boy.
Paisley chopped the tree through and paced off ten feet. He raised his ax, then let it gently down again.
“Boy,” he said, “it’s a hard thing. How soon?”
“We reckon sometime to-day.”
Paisley spit on his hands and resumed work.
“I’m goin’ to put up four pens for you, and what you better do is get back home. Don’t say anythin’ to me or I’ll knock your head off. Now, you strike the back trail and when I get the traps up I’ll be with you. Here, take this turkey.”
Boy picked up the turkey, then stood awkwardly brushing his face with his doeskin sleeve.
“Bill, I’m much obliged.”
Paisley snorted.
“I’m goin’ to put your mark on these pens—two narrow notches an’ one wide one, ain’t it?”