Kernes' skin was too red to show the blood, but his voice rose to the challenge. "When Old John owned the farm, he could say what he pleased; but he's dead now. I'm damned if I'm not going to get an Indian skull like yours." Gesturing eastward at the ridge, the little man added, "I own half this goddam place and I'm going to get a skull."

The curio cabinet in Deehalter's parlor had been assembled by his grandfather before the first world war. Among its agates and arrowheads, sword-cane and ostrich plumes, was a brown human skull. The family had always assumed the skull came from a mound somewhere, but not even Old John had been sure. It fascinated Kernes, perhaps only because Deehalter had refused to give it to him. The main house and its furnishings, including the cabinet, had gone to Deehalter under his father's will-just as the new house in which his sister Alice lived with Kernes and their children had gone to her. The rest of the six-hundred-acre farm was willed to Deehalter and Alice jointly, with the provision that if either of them tried to partition the property, the whole of it went to the other. Deehalter had talked to a lawyer and he was sure Kernes had done the same. The worst news either of the men had heard in a long time was that the will would probably stand up in court.

"There's a law against digging up mounds," Deehalter muttered.

"There's a law against keeping an Indian skull on display," the shorter man blazed back. "You going to bring the law in here, Dee?"

"Well, "Deehalter said lamely, "you don't get everything in the mound. You've no right to that."

Kernes stood, arms akimbo, sweat from the June sun glittering on his face. "If I do all the goddam digging, I do," he said. "And anyhow, I get the skull out first."

Deehalter wiped his face with his huge, calloused palm.