“Wal, leave Tom to home up in the woods—when you visit us.”
Dale finished his hearty meal, and listened awhile longer to the old woman's talk; then, taking his rifle and the other turkey, he bade her good-by. She followed him out.
“Now, Milt, you'll come soon again, won't you—jest to see Al's niece—who'll be here in a week?”
“I reckon I'll drop in some day.... Auntie, have you seen my friends, the Mormon boys?”
“No, I 'ain't seen them an' don't want to,” she retorted. “Milt Dale, if any one ever corrals you it'll be Mormons.”
“Don't worry, Auntie. I like those boys. They often see me up in the woods an' ask me to help them track a hoss or help kill some fresh meat.”
“They're workin' for Beasley now.”
“Is that so?” rejoined Dale, with a sudden start. “An' what doin'?”
“Beasley is gettin' so rich he's buildin' a fence, an' didn't have enough help, so I hear.”
“Beasley gettin' rich!” repeated Dale, thoughtfully. “More sheep an' horses an' cattle than ever, I reckon?”