"All by yourself? One man?" he eyed the bulk of Bull hopefully for a moment, then the light faded from his face. "Nope, you couldn't raise 'em. Not them joists yonder!"
"I think I could," said Bull.
Old Bridewell thrust out his jaw. He had been a combative man in his youth; and he still had the instinct of a fighter.
"I got ten dollars," he said, "that says you can't lift that beam and put her up on end! That one right there, that I tried to lift a minute ago!"
"All right," Bull nodded.
"You're on for the bet?" the old man chuckled gayly. "All right. Let's see you give a heave!"
Bull Hunter obediently stepped to the timber. It was a twelve footer of bulky dimensions, heavy wood not thoroughly seasoned. Yet he did not approach one end of it. He laid his immense hands on the center of it. Old Bridewell chuckled to himself softly as he watched; he was beginning to feel that the big stranger was a little simple-minded. His chuckling ceased when he saw the timber cant over on one edge.
"Look out!" he called, for Bull had slipped his hand under the lifted side. "You'll get your fingers smashed plumb off that way."
"I have to get a hold under it, you see," explained Bull calmly, and so saying his knees sagged a little and when they straightened the timber rose lightly in his hands and was placed on his shoulder.
"Where'd you like to have it?" asked Bull.