The old surly scowl was gone from Bud's face, his eyes held again
the twinkle. Cash listened to the whoops, the baby laughter, the
old, rodeo catch-phrases, and grinned while he fried his bacon.
Presently Bud gave a whoop, forgetting the feud in his play.
"Lookit, Cash! He's ridin' straight up and whippin' as he rides!
He's so-o-me bronk-fighter, buh-lieve me!"
Cash turned and looked, grinned and turned away again--but
only to strip the rind off a fresh-fried slice of bacon the full
width of the piece. He came down the room on his own side the
dead line, and tossed the rind across to the bunk.
"Quirt him with that, Boy," he grunted, "and then you can eat
it if you want."
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN. LOVIN CHILD WRIGGLES IN
On the fourth day Bud's conscience pricked him into making a
sort of apology to Cash, under the guise of speaking to Lovin
Child, for still keeping the baby in camp.
"I've got a blame good notion to pack you to town to-day, Boy,
and try and find out where you belong," he said, while he was
feeding him oatmeal mush with sugar and canned milk. "It's pretty
cold, though ..." He cast a slant-eyed glance at Cash, dourly
frying his own hotcakes. "We'll see what it looks like after a
while.
Pages:
173
174
175
176
177
178
179
180
181
182
183
184
185
186
187
188
189
190
191
192
193
194
195
196
197