“Half a mile down stream. Guess we all hay that way. There’s no other sloughs handy on the west side of the village.”
“That’s why the wagon’s kept here?”
“Sure. Saves the horses. They’ll come out here to-morrow, and stop right here till we quit.”
Charlie spun the last wheel round after replacing the cap.
“Where are you stopping with your men?” he demanded abruptly, as he let the jack down.
“Just around,” said Fyles evasively.
“I see. On the prowl.” Charlie smiled up into the man’s shrewd, good-looking face. “You need to do some prowling around this valley if you’re going to clean things up. Yes, and I’d say you need a mighty big broom.”
“We’ve got the broom, and I guess we’ll do the work,” replied Fyles nodding. “We generally do—in the end.”
Charlie’s eyes had become thoughtful.
“Yes,” he agreed. “I s’pose you do. Guess I’ll have to be moving.”