CHAPTER TEN.
ANOTHER SAWTOOTH "ACCIDENT" Frank Johnson rose from the breakfast table, shaved a splinter off the edge of the water bench for a toothpick and sharpened it carefully while he looked at Brit.
"You goin' after them posts, or shall I ?" he inquired glumly, which, by the way, was his normal tone.

"Jim and Sorry oughta git the post holes all dug to-day.

One of us better take a look through that young stock in the lower field, too, and see if there's any more sign uh blackleg.
Which you ruther do ?" Brit tilted his chair backward so that he could reach the coffeepot on the stove hearth.

"I'll haul down the posts," he decided carelessly.
"They're easy loaded, and I guess my back's as good as yourn." "All you got to do is skid 'em down off'n the bank onto the wagon," Frank said.

"I wisht you'd go on up where we cut them last ones and git my sweater, Brit.