ur across to Lovin Child to play
with; a risky thing to do, since he did not know what were Lovin Child's
little peculiarities in the way of receiving strange gifts. But he was
lucky. Lovin Child was enraptured with the soft fur and rubbed it over
his baby cheeks and cooed to it and kissed it, and said "Ee? Ee?" to
Cash, which was reward enough.

There was a strained moment when Bud came over and discovered what it
was he was having so much fun with. Having had three days of experience
by which to judge, he jumped to the conclusion that Lovin Child had been
in mischief again.

"Now what yuh up to, you little scallywag?" he demanded. "How did you
get hold of that? Consarn your little hide, Boy..."

"Let the kid have it," Cash muttered gruffly. "I gave it to him." He got
up abruptly and went outside, and came in with wood for the cookstove,
and became exceedingly busy, never once looking toward the other end of
the room, where Bud was sprawled upon his back on the bunk, with Lovin
Child astride his middle, having a high old time with a wonderful new
game of "bronk riding."

Now and then Bud would stop bucking long enough to slap Lovin Child in
the face with the soft side of the rabbit fur, and Lovin Child would
squint his eyes and wrinkle his nose and laugh until he seemed likely to
choke. Then Bud would cry, "Ride 'im, Boy! Ride 'im an' scratch 'im. Go
get 'im, cowboy--he's your meat!" and would bounce Lovin Child till he
squealed with glee.

Cash tried to ignore all that. Tried to keep his back to it. But he was
human, and Bud was changed so completely in the last three days that
Cash could scarcely credit his eyes and his ears. 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