all that he could possibly have expected. Somewhere was
a vicious clang, the rattle of a tin pan and the approaching outcry of
a woman. Bud retreated to the kitchen to view the devastation and
discovered that a sheep bell not too clean had been dislodged from a
nail and dragged through one pan of milk into another, where it was
rolling on its edge, stirring the cream that had risen. As Mrs. Hanson
rushed in from the back yard, Bud returned to the angry captive's side.

"I've got him safe," he soothed Mrs. Hanson and her shotgun. "He just
had a nightmare. Perhaps that breakfast you fed him was too hearty.
I'll look after him now, Mrs. Hanson. We won't be bothering you long,
anyway."

Mrs. Hanson was talking to herself when she went to her milk pans, and
Bud released Eddie Collier, guessing how humiliating it must be to be
a young fellow pinned into a blanket with safety pins, and knowing from
certain experiences of his own that humiliation is quite as apt to breed
trouble as any other emotion.

Eddie sat up on the edge of the bed and stared at Bud. His eyes were
like Marian's in shape and color, but their expression was suspicion,
defiance, and watchfulness blended into one compelling stare that
spelled Fear. Or so Bud read it, having trapped animals of various
grades ever since he had caught the "HAWNTOAD", and seen that look many,
many times in the eyes of his catch.

"How'd you like to take a trip with me--as a kind of a partner?" Bud
began carelessly, pulling a splinter off the homemade bed for which Mrs.
Hanson would not thank him--and beginning to whittle it to a sharp point
aimlessly, as men have a way of doing when their minds are at work upon
a problem which requires--much constructive thinking.

"Pardner in what?" Eddie countered sullenly.

"Pardner in what I am planning to do to make money. I can make money,
you know--and stay on friendly terms with the sheriff, too. That's
better than your bunch has been able to do. I don't mind telling
you--it's stale news, I guess--that I cleaned up close to twelve
thousand dollars in less than a month, off a working capital of three
thoroughbred horses and about sixty dollars cash. And I'll add the
knowledge that I was playing against men that would slip a cold deck
if they played solitaire, they were so crooked. And if that doesn't
recommend me sufficiently, I'll say I'm a deputy sheriff of Crater
County, and Jesse Cummings knows my past. I want to hire you to go wi