Lem was sitting on an upended mash barrel loading his old shotgun and grinning vacuously. He seemed unaware of the fact that the stock of the gun was a splintered ruin. "Guess what, Paw," he yelled. "I got me a Martin. I got me a whole passel of Martins, Paw, I sure did. Yup, I--" Paw Coy grunted, and started poking around in the vittles Maw had brought up from the cabin. The boys leaned their rifles up against the oak and each picked up a handy fruit jar of corn squeezins. Hank said nastily, "Sure you got a whole passel of Martins, Lem. In yore sleep, you got a passel of Martins." Lem said belligerently, "Don't you go a talkin' thataway Hank, or I'll ... I'll throw you up into the tree the way I did that time you hit me with the ax. I did so get me some Martins. I was a sittin' here when a whole passel come outen the woods. Didn't know they was Martins at first. Then--" Maw Coy handed him a chunk of corn pone. "Now you be quiet, Lem, and eat your vittles. Sure you got yourself a Martin, Lem." A thin trickle of brown ran down from the side of Lem's mouth. He spit on the ground before him, with an air of happy belligerence. "I sure did, Maw. I sure got me a passel of Martins. Yup, I sure did."