pile of ruffled bronze with a red head lying limp along the ground. Ruller stared et it, unable to think; then he leaned forward suspiciously. He wasn't going to touch it. Why was it there now for him to take? He wasn't going to touch it. It could just lie there. The picture of himself walking in the room with it slung over his shoulder came back to him. Look at Ruller with that turkey! Lord look at Ruller! He squatted down beside it and looked without touching it. He wondered what had been wrong with its wing. He lifted it up by the tip and looked under. The feathers were blood-soaked. It had been shot. It must weigh ten pounds, he figured.
Lord, Ruller! It's a huge turkey! He wondered how it would feel slung over his shoulder. Maybe, he considered, he was supposed to take it.
Ruller gets our turkeys for us. Ruller got it in the woods, chased it dead. Yes, he's a very unusual child.
Ruller wondered suddenly if he were an unusual child.
It came down on him in an instant: he was..an..unusual...child.
He reckoned he was more unusual than Hane.
He had to worry more than Hane because he knew more how things were.
Sometimes when he was listening at night, he heard
