"It would look that way. But there is a sort of a somethin' about you, Bill. I heard Henwood's daughter say you was mighty good-lookin', but she hasn't got much sense." Milford looked up with a smile. "No, she ain't," Mitchell went on. "And if her daddy was to die she'd have to have a gardeen appointed. But to-day, while I was gettin' a drink at the windmill, I heard two or three of Mrs. Stuvic's women standin' over in the road talkin'. One of 'em said that she had a cousin that's a detective in Chicago, and she was goin' to bring him out here and let him investigate you just for fun."
Milford turned down the light. "I'll throw this thing into the road the first thing you know. Bring a detective, eh? All right, let her bring him."
"What will you do, Bill?"
"Knock him down if he gets in my road."
"I guess that's the way to look at it. But have you got any cause to be afraid of a detective, Bill?"
"If I had, do you suppose I'd tell you?"
"Well, I don't know why. We're workin' here together, and I wouldn't say anythin' about it. What did you do, Bill?"
"You don't say so! What did you want with a saw-mill?"
"To rip out new territory—I wanted to make a state."