“Injuns ain’t workin’ well?”
“Mebbe.”
“They’re a queer lot.”
“Ye-es. I was kind o’ figgerin’. We’re mostly through hayin’.”
“I’ve got another slough to cut.”
“That’s so. Down at the Red Willow bluff.” The old man nodded.
“Yes,” assented Seth. Then, “Wal?”
“After that, guess ther’s mostly slack time till harvest. I thought, mebbe, we could jest haul that lumber from Beacon Crossing. And cut the logs. Parker give me the ’permit.’ Seems to me we might do wuss.”
“For the stockade?” suggested Seth.
“Yes.”