said something which the Kid was not supposed to hear, and sat
suddenly down upon the stone rim of the forge. It had never before
occurred to Chip that his Kid was no longer a baby, but a most
adventurous man-child who had lived all his life among men and whose
mental development had more than kept pace with his growing body. He had
laughed with the others at the Kid's quaint precociousness of speech and
at his frank worship of range men and range life. He had gone to some
trouble to find a tractable Shetland pony the size of a burro, and had
taught the Kid to ride, decorously and fully protected from accident.

He and the Little Doctor had been proud of the Kid's masculine traits as
they manifested themselves in the management of that small specimen of
horse flesh. That the Kid should have outgrown so quickly his content
with Stubby seemed much more amazing than it really was. He eyed the Kid
doubtfully for a minute, and then grinned.

"All that don't let you out on the hat question," he said, evading the
real issue and laying stress upon the small matter of obedience, as is
the exasperating habit of parents. "You don't see any of the bunch going
around bareheaded. Only women and babies do that."

"The bunch goes bareheaded when they get their hats blowed off in the
creek," the Kid pointed out unmoved. "I've seen you lose your hat mor'n
once, old timer. That's nothing." He sent Chip a sudden, adorable smile
which proclaimed him the child of his mother and which never failed to
thrill Chip secretly,--it was so like the Little Doctor. "You lend me
your hat for a while, dad," he said. "She never said what hat I had to
wear, just so it's a hat. Honest to gran'ma, my hat's in the creek and
I couldn't poke it out with a stick or anything. It sailed into the
swimmin' hole. I was goin' to go after it," he explained further,
"but--a snake was swimmin--and I hated to 'sturb him."

Chip drew a sharp breath and for one panicky moment considered
imperative the hiring of a body-guard for his Kid.

"You keep out of the pasture, young man!" His tone was stern to match
his perturbation. "And you leave Silver alone--"

The Kid did not wait for more. He lifted up his voice and wept in
bitterness of spirit. Wept so that one could hear him a mile. Wept so
that J. G. Whitmore reading the Great Falls Tribune on the porch, laid
down his paper and asked the world at large what ailed that doggoned kid
now.

"Dell, you better go see what'