"Th’ saints be praised!" ejaculated Murphy, staring incredulously at the battle-scarred recruit. "Mebby there’ll be a coincidence about twelve layin’ all at once, but there won’t be no thirteenth on th’ job. Mebby yer thinkin’ th’ Sultan will nest down alongside them to set them a good example? Six boxes will be a-plenty, Tommy, my lad." Tommy tilted his sombrero to scratch his head. "Well, if you reckon there won’t be no stampedin’, mebby six will be enough, ’though I’d hate to think of ’em milling frantic for their turn on th’ nests. An’ while we’re speakin’ of calamities, I’m sayin’ good chickens will fly over th’ fence you fellers aim to build. Six feet ain’t high enough, nohow." "We clip their wings, Tommy," enlightened Tex. "We clip one wing close up," corrected Murphy. "That lifts ’em on one side an’ flops ’em around in a circle. I can easy see you ain’t no _hen puncher_." "Th’ principle is sound in theory an’ proved by practice," said Tex. "Just like when you saw off th’ laigs on one side of a steer. That allus keeps ’em from jumpin’ fences." "Too cussed bad you stopped that miner," growled Watkins. "I’d ’a’ been a whole lot better off dead." "We’re sorry, too," retorted Murphy. "Now, then; we got a four-sided fence to build, three posts to a side. That’s a dozen holes to dig." "Tell you what," suggested Tommy, winking at Tex. "You can handle a spade all around us, one Irish section-boss bein’ worth two punchers. Besides we only got one spade for th’ three of us. You dig th’ north an’ south sides while me an’ Tex start on nests an’ put up th’ roosts. Then we’ll dig th’ east an’ west sides while yo’re settin’ yore posts an’ tampin’ ’em." "An I’ll have mine set while you fellers git ready to start on yer roosts," boasted Murphy, grabbing the spade and starting to work. Jane Saunders, who had come up unobserved, suddenly stuffed her handkerchief in her mouth and fled back to the house. There ensued great hammering and frantic dirt throwing. Tex and his companion were hampered by mirth and were only building the last nest when Murphy stuck his head in the door. "Ye wouldn’t last in no gang av mine!" he jeered. "I got me holes dug an’ th’ posts set. Set ’em single-handed an’ they’re true as a plumb line." "All right, Murphy," said Tommy without looking up. "Run along an’ do th’ other two while we’re finishin’ up. It’s gettin’ late." "Tryin’ to lay it onto me, eh?" demanded Murphy. "You an’ yer two post holes! Ye must think--" he stopped short, thought a moment, and then slyly glanced out at the unfinished sides of the enclosure. "Hivin save us!" he muttered and slipped out without another word. Tommy wiped his eyes and leaned against the wall for support. "Four sides," he babbled. "Three to a side: that’s a dozen holes to dig! He will make smart remarks about my thirteen nests, will he?"