"Emmy-grants," Snedeker grumbled. "They light out for Oregon an' their tail's afire 'til they get thar. Then they spend the rest of their days milkin' fool cows an' steerin' a plow. I don't know why any of you bother to leave Mizoury."
"The ground's softer in Oregon," Joe grinned. "It makes for easier plowing."
"Pah! If the Lord meant men to plow, they'd of been born with a plow in their hands."
"And if He meant them to shoot, I suppose they'd be born with a rifle in their hands?"
"'Tain't the same thing. 'Tain't the same thing at all. Sounds like your young-un's shot at somethin'."
Up on the ridge, the rifle cracked, and its echoes died in the distance. Joe listened for a second shot but heard none. Twenty minutes later Tad appeared, dragging a timber wolf by a rope around its neck while Mike trotted proudly beside him. Tad panted to a halt.
"There was three of 'em!" he gloated. "They was goin' to jump old Mike an' they didn't even see me! The other two cootered off like scared rabbits when I shot this one! Plunked him right in the ear!"
"Was he runnin'?" Snedeker inquired.
"Nah!" Tad said scornfully. "He was just trottin'."
"Did you aim at his ear?"