By that brief glow Mac Strann looked up and down the wall.

The match burned out against the calloused tips of his fingers.
"That wall," mused Strann, "ain't made out of the same timber as the side of the barn.

That wall is whole years newer.

Haw-Haw, that _ain't_ the end of the barn.

They's a holler space beyond it." He lighted another match, and then cursed softly in delight.