“It’s not too cold for me,” said Cal. “I never feel cold.”

“You did this morning.”

“No, I didn’t. I was just making fun of you, shivering and chattering like a milk baby. Do you want to call me a liar?”

“No,” said Aron. “I don’t want to fight.”

“Afraid to fight?”

“No. I just don’t want to.”

“If I was to say you was scared, would you want to call me a liar?”

“No.”

“Then you’re scared, aren’t you?”

“I guess so.”

Aron wandered slowly away, leaving the rabbit on the ground. His eyes were very wide and he had a beautiful soft mouth. The width between his blue eyes gave him an expression of angelic innocence. His hair was fine and golden. The sun seemed to light up the top of his head.

He was puzzled—but he was often puzzled. He knew his brother was getting at something, but he didn’t know what. Cal was an enigma to him. He could not follow the reasoning of his brother, and he was always surprised at the tangents it took.

Cal looked more like Adam. His hair was dark brown. He was bigger than his brother, bigger of bone, heavier in the shoulder, and his jaw had the square sternness of Adam’s jaw. Cal’s eyes were brown and watchful, and sometimes they sparkled as though they were black. But Cal’s hands were very small for the size of the rest of him. The fingers were short and slender, the nails delicate. Cal protected his hands. There were few things that could make him cry, but a cut finger was one of them. He never ventured with his hands, never touched an insect or carried a snake about. And in a fight he picked up a rock or a stick to fight with.

As Cal watched his brother walking away from him there was a small sure smile on his lips. He called, “Aron, wait for me!”

When he caught up with his brother he held out the rabbit. “You can carry it,” he said kindly, putting his arm around his brother’s shoulders. “Don’t be mad with me.”

“You always want to fight,” said Aron.

“No, I don’t. I was only making a joke.”

“Were you?”

“Sure. Look—you can carry the rabbit. And we’ll start back now if you want.”

Aron smiled at last. He was always relieved when his brother let the tension go. The two boys trudged up out of the river bottom and up the crumbling cliff to the level land. Aron’s right trouser leg was well bloodied from the rabbit.

Cal said, “They’ll be surprised we got a rabbit. If Father’s home, let’s give it to him. He likes a rabbit for his supper.”

“All right,” Aron said happily. “Tell you what. We’ll both give it to him and we won’t say which one hit it.”

“All right, if you want to,” said Cal.

They walked along in silence for a time and then Cal said, “All this is our land—way to hell over the river.”