"He's dead--it can't help him any to----" He stopped and pulled himself together.

"Swan, you take a fool's advice and don't tell anybody else about feeling words talk in your head.

They'll have you in the bug-house at Blackfoot, sure as you live." He looked at the saddle, hesitated, looked again at Swan, who was watching him.

"That blood most likely got there when Fred was packing a deer in from the hills.

And marks on them old oxbow stirrups don't mean a damn thing but the need of a new pair, maybe." He forced a laugh and stepped outside the shed.