A high-keyed snarl brought the two sharply facing the crag. Bearing down upon them with his fists flailing the air in a kind of impotent fury came old Jess Cramer, like a vulture fighting for his feast. Rawley had seen the old man at a short distance, but he had never before stood face to face with him. He would cheerfully have missed the meeting now. Old Jess craned his long neck toward him, his bleak, blue-gray eyes venomous. But it was Peter to whom he spoke—screamed, rather.
“Told ye it’d come to this, didn’t I? You would take ’em in and pet ’em up, and treat ’em better’n you do your own kin! Think so much of ’em you had to go and show ’em what we’re doing and why! Reckon when we touch ’er off and git the damned river penned back, you’ll beg ’em on your knees to go down and claw out g
