“Is that where they've gone?” asked Orde like a flash.
“Yes, sir. And he only owns a 'forty' up there, and it ain't more'n half cut, anyway.”
“I didn't know he owned any.”
“Yes, sir. He bought that little Johnson piece last winter. I been workin' up there with a little two-horse crew since January. We didn't put up more'n a couple hundred thousand.”
“Is he breaking out his rollways below?” Orde asked Denning.
“No, sir,” struck in Charlie, “he ain't.”
“How do you happen to be so wise?” inquired Orde, “Seems to me you know about as much as old man Solomon.”
“Well,” explained Charlie, “you see it's like this. When I got back from the woods last week, I just sort of happened into McNeill's place. I wasn't drinkin' a drop!” he cried virtuously, in answer to Orde's smile.
“Of course not,” said Orde. “I was just thinking of the last time we were in there together.”
“That's just it!” cried Charlie. “They was always sore at you about that. Well, I was lyin' on one of those there benches back of the 'Merican flags in the dance hall 'cause I was very sleepy, when in blew old man Heinzman and McNeill himself. I just lay low for black ducks and heard their talk. They took a look around, but didn't see no one, so they opened her up wide.”