“Yes.”
“Then, can’t you git your own path-master to do his dooty an’ execoote the statoots?”
“You see,” stammered Byram, “I app’inted a—a lady.”
“A what!” cried the game-warden.
“A lady,” repeated Byram, firmly. “Tell the truth, we ’ain’t got no path-master; we’ve got a path-mistress—Elton’s kid, you know—”
“Elton?”
“Yes.”
“What hung hisself in his orchard?”
“Yes.”
“His kid? The girl that folks say is sweet on Dan McCloud?”