Once when they had halted at noon he pointed out a hillside of pine, black beneath the rain, close-clustered and of mastlike straightness.
"There's a wonderful stand of pine, Cal," he remarked. "I'd venture to say that it would cut at least two million feet."
Instantly, although the remark was addressed to him, Caleb knew that it was Stephen's comment for which Allison was angling. And hard upon his casual statement the boy's head came sharply around.
"She'll run nigh double that," he swallowed the bait. "She'll run double—and mebby a trifle more."
Nor did Allison even smile now.
"What makes you think so?" he asked.
Again there came the boy's pat answer.
"I ain't thinkin'," he said. "It's jest there! They're close set—them trees—and they're clear, clean to the tops. There ain't a stump there that won't run near ten standard."
Allison squinted and finally nodded his head.
"Maybe," he agreed, "maybe."