t' give us the rain now, I dunno," Murphy
predicted, staring up at the leaden clouds through his thick glasses.
"Ye better git up some firewood, Mike, and make the camp snug agin
foul weather. An' av' the both of ye ain't got yer place tight an'
ready fer a sthorm, ye betther be stirrin' yerselves an' let the
diggin' go fer a day. It's firewood ye'll need, an' in a dry place.
An' while ye're talkin' 'bout wood, have yer got yer wood fer the
winter? An' yer goin' to sthay, ye bin tellin' me."

Fred looked around him at the forest where the oaks and the
cottonwoods and all the trailing vines were fluttering gay red and
yellow leaves in the wind. Fall was slipping on him unaware. He had
thought that there was plenty of time to make ready for winter, but
now he knew that the time was short--too short, maybe, with that wind
booming up from the southwest.

"You and Mike can knock off work here, and when your camp's in shape
you can come over and cut wood for us. Doug, we'll beat it and throw
that woodshed together we've been going to build. Think it'll storm
today, Murphy?"

Murphy stepped out where he could glimpse the southern sky, and eyed
the drift of heavy clouds. "She will not bust loose t'day, I'm
thinkin'," he decided. "She'll be workin' 'erself up to the pint av
shnowin' er rainin' er both. Rain in the valley, shnow up here where
we're at, I'm thinkin'. She'll be a rip when she does bust loose, me
boy, an' ye can't have things too tight an' shnug."

"I believe yuh. Come on, Doug. Murphy, you can take care of the tools
and cover up the hole, will you?"

"I will do that." Murphy grinned after the two tolerantly. "Will I
take care av me tools, an' it buildin' a sthorm?" he sarcastically
asked the swaying bushes around him. "An' do I need a pilgrim to
remind me av that? An' thim wit' no wood, I dunno, whin they shud have
thurrty tier at the very least, sawed an' sphlit an' ricked up under
cover where it can be got at whin they want it--an' they will want it,
fair enough! A-ah, but they'll find they ain't winterin' in Southern
Californy, before they're t'rough with this country. They're not got
their winter grub laid in, an' I'll bet money on't, an' no wood, an'
they're like t' be shnowed in here, whin no rig will come up thot
grade wit' a load an' I don't care how much they'll pay t' have it
hauled, an' them two not able t' pack grub on their backs as I've done
manny's the time, an' them wimmin wantin' all the nic