Bud lifted his foot and scraped some snow off a nearby log,
and set the baby down there while he took off his coat and wrapped it
around him, buttoning it like a bag over arms and all. The baby watched
him knowingly, its eyes round and dark blue and shining, and gave a
contented little wriggle when Bud picked it up again in his arms.

"Now you're all right till we get to where it's warm," Bud assured it
gravely. "And we'll do some steppin', believe me. I guess maybe you
ain't any more crazy over that Injun smell on yuh, than what I am--and
that ain't any at all." He walked a few steps farther before he added
grimly, "It'll be some jolt for Cash, doggone his skin. He'll about
bust, I reckon. But we don't give a darn. Let him bust if he wants
to--half the cabin's mine, anyway."

So, talking a few of his thoughts aloud to the baby, that presently
went to sleep with its face against his shoulder, Bud tramped steadily
through the snow, carrying Lovin Child in his arms. No remote glimmer of
the wonderful thing Fate had done for him seeped into his consciousness,
but there was a new, warm glow in his heart--the warmth that came from a
child's unquestioning faith in his protecting tenderness.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN. CASH GETS A SHOCK

It happened that Cash was just returning to the cabin from the Blind
Ledge claim. He met Bud almost at the doorstep, just as Bud was fumbling
with the latch, trying to open the door without moving Lovin Child in
his arms. Cash may or may not have been astonished. Certainly he did
not betray by more than one quick glance that he was interested in Bud's
return or in the mysterious burden he bore. He stepped ahead of Bud and
opened the door without a word, as if he always did it just in that way,
and went inside.

Bud followed him in silence, stepped across the black line to his own
side of the room and laid Lovin Child carefully down so as not to waken
him. He unbuttoned the coat he had wrapped around him, pulled off the
concealing red cap and stared down at the pale gold, silky hair and the
adorable curve of the soft cheek and the lips with the dimples tricked
in at the corners; the lashes lying like the delicate strokes of an
artist's pencil under the closed eyes. For at least five minutes he
stood without moving, his whole face softened into a boyish wistfulness.
By the stove Cash stood and stared from Bud to the sleeping baby,
his bushy eyebrows lifted, his gray eyes a study of incredulous
b