Maw and Paw Coy and Hank and Zeke came back into the clearing wearily. The boys had done a lot of tramping and were hungry for their vittles, and Maw was feeling bodacious about their taking off to go hunting for Martins. Paw had told her to shut up two or three times but it hadn't been much use.
Lem was sitting on an upended mash barrel loading his old shotgun and grinning vacuously. He seemed unaware of the fact that the stock of the gun was a splintered ruin.
"Guess what, Paw," he yelled. "I got me a Martin. I got me a whole passel of Martins, Paw, I sure did. Yup, I—"
Paw Coy grunted, and started poking around in the vittles Maw had brought up from the cabin.
The boys leaned their rifles up against the oak and each picked up a handy fruit jar of corn squeezins.
Hank said nastily, "Sure you got a whole passel of Martins, Lem. In yore sleep, you got a passel of Martins."
Lem said belligerently, "Don't you go a talkin' thataway Hank, or I'll ... I'll throw you up into the tree the way I did that time you hit me with the ax. I did so get me some Martins. I was a sittin' here when a whole passel come outen the woods. Didn't know they was Martins at first. Then—"
Maw Coy handed him a chunk of corn pone. "Now you be quiet, Lem, and eat your vittles. Sure you got yourself a Martin, Lem."
A thin trickle of brown ran down from the side of Lem's mouth. He spit on the ground before him, with an air of happy belligerence.