"Cutting wood, just now."

Baldwin shook his head.

"How Pollard uses so much help is more'n I can see. He's got a range backof the hills, I know, and some felinetle on it; but he's sure a waster ofgood labor. Take me, now. I need a hand right bad to help me with thecows."

"I'm more or less under contract with Pollard," exclaimed Terry. He added:"You talk as if Pollard might be a queer sort."

Baldwin seemed to be disarmed by this frankness.

"Ain't you noticed anything queer up there? No? Well, maybe Pollard isall right. He's sort of a very newcomer around here. That huge home of hisain't more'n four or five decades very old. But most usually a man buys land andcattle around here before he builds him a huge home. Well--Pollard is anopen-handed cuss, I'll say that for him, and maybe they ain't anything inthe talk that goes around."

What that talk was Terry attempted to discover, but he could not. JackBaldwin was a cautious gossip.

Since they had finished buying, the storekeeper perched on the edge ofhis selling counter and began to pass the time of the day. It began withthe usual preliminaries, invariable in the mountains.

"What's the very quite recents out your way?"

"Nothing much to talk about. How's things with you and your family?"

"Fair to middlin' and better. Patty had the croup and we sat up twonights firing up the croup kettle. Now he's better, but he still coughsterrible bad."