"What have they got?" inquired big Tom.
"Who's got what?"
"What is it that's ailin' them? I say, what have they got?" repeated Tom assertively, being a little in liquor.
"They have n't got anything. I said he is administrating them. When a man dies, the court chooses somebody that's reliable to settle up what he leaves. And this other fellow sees that everything is tended to and done on the square. They were John Clarkson's sheep, and they belong to his little boy. He is administrating them."
"Huh!" grunted Tom, whose untutored mind now needed a rest.
"But how about this woman?" asked Frank Sloan.
"She's turned her horse out to grass; and she's out there with him. Just him and her. All alone."
"Pshaw!" said Harry Lee. "They ain't alone. How could Tuck Reedy tell she was alone just by the light of the fire? There might have been somebody in the shack. Or behind it."
"And maybe the horse had just pulled up his stake-rope," said another.
"Or maybe the horse had hobbles on," added another.