"I know where we can come up with us some game chickens," Ceece said, hanging the gourd back on the hemlock limb.
"How much?" I said.
Ceece picked up his hoe and looked at the blade; he studied the edge for a spell, like he was holding back something that nobody else had figured. With his right thumb, he felt of the hoe's edge like it was a razor. A grin came over his face as he turned to me. "For free, I tell you."
"You're the very one that rocked my hog." I said, taking a long whetrock from my hip pocket and pointing it in his face. "I ain't about to take no thrashin for helpin you steal chickens."
Backing up two steps, Ceece took a file from his pocket and raked it across his hoe the wrong way; it made a screeching sound that hurt my ears. "Well, I done and got me two fine fighting cocks."