He paused to light a long cigar. No one spoke. He proffered one to Wade, who shook his head with a little unnecessary vigor.
"Now--pup--pup--now, boys--pup--you know as well as I do that you've squatted right in the middle of a lot of slash that we had to leave, and it lays in a bad way for fire. You ain't so careful about fire as you ought to be." He held up his cigar. "Here's my style. I don't smoke till I'm out of the trail. I--pup--pup--own land, and that makes a difference. You don't own land. I don't want to bring up old stories, but you know and I know that the prospects of six cents a quart for blueberries makes you forgetful about what's been said to you. You've started some devilish big fires. Here's the September big winds about due--and this one that's just springing up to-day is a fair sample--and all is, the owners can't afford to run chances of a fire that will stop God knows where if it gets running in this five thousand acres of dry tops and slash.
"Here's Mr. Ide's representative," he continued, flapping a hand towards Wade. "They've got black growth to the north, and he'll tell you just the same thing."
"Well, Mister Mealy-mouth," sneered young Jule, over the heads of the others, "git to where you're goin' to. We don't want no sermons. It's move ag'in, hey?"
"It's move," snapped the Honorable Pulaski, his ready temper starting at the woman's insolent tone, "and it's move damn sudden."
Whether it was a groan or growl that came from the wretched huddle, Wade, looking on them with infinite pity, could not determine.
"I could put ye plumb square out of the county," roared Britt; "I've got land jurisdiction enough to do it. But you be reasonable and I'll be reasonable. I won't drive ye too far. I'll have four horses over from my cedar operation to tote what duds you want to take and haul the old women. Sheriff Rodliff and his men here will go along, and see that you have grub and don't have to light fires. In fact, everything will be arranged nice for you, and you'll like it when you get there."
"On Little Lobster--the old Drake farm," said the Honorable Pulaski, trying to speak enthusiastically and signally failing.
"O my Gawd!" moaned young Jed; "most twenty miles to hoof it, and when ye git there no wood bigger'n alder-withes, and all the stones the devil let drop when his puckerin'-string bruk! Hain't a berry. Hain't northin' to earn a livin'."