ghtful fragrance
of bacon floated to Jeff's nostrils. Evidently provision had been made
for man as well as beast.

"That smells mighty good," said Jeff.

Bud helped him to rise, but after one effort Jeff sank back, groaning.

"It's my boot," he explained. "See--I'm wearing a number eight on a
number fifteen hoof. W-w-what? Pull it off? Not for ten thousand
dollars. We'll cut it off."

Jeff produced a knife and felt its edge.

"It's sharp," he said, "sharp as you, Bud; but-doggone it! I can't use
it."

Bud saw the sweat start on his skin as he tried to pull the injured
foot towards him.

"S'pose I do it?" the boy suggested.

"You've not got the nerve, Bud. Why, you're yaller as cheese, you poor
little cuss."

"I'm not," said the boy, flushing suddenly.

He took the knife and began to cut the tough leather: a delicate
operation, for Jeff's leg from knee to ankle was terribly swollen.
Slowly and delicately the knife did its work. Finally, a horribly
contused limb was revealed.

"Cold water--and plenty of it," murmured Jeff.

"Or hot?"

"Mebbee hot'd be better."

Bud disappeared, whistling.

"That boy's earning a five-dollar bill," said Jeff. "I'm a liar if he
ain't as bright as they make 'em."

The hot water was brought and some linen.

"I feel a heap better," Jeff declared presently.

"How about dinner?"

"Bud, if ever I hev a son I hope he'll be jest like you. Say--you're
earning big money--d'ye know it?--and my everlastin' gratitude."

"That's all right. Hadn't I better bring the grub out here? It's nice
and cool under this tree."

Jeff nodded. The bacon and beans were brought out and consumed. Bud,
however, refused to eat. He preferred to wait for his father. Jeff
asked some questions, as he stowed away the bacon and beans.

"Your dad must be an awful nice man," said he.

"He's the best and smartest man in the State," said Bud proudly.

"Is he! And you two are campin' out for yer health--eh? Ye can't fool
me, Bud."

"Oh!"

"I sized you up at once as a city boy."

"You're more than half right."

"I'm all right, Bud. In my business I have to be all right. Bless you,
it don't do to make mistakes in my business."

"And what is your business?"

Jeff beamed. He was certainly a good-looking fellow, and warmed by
food and, comparatively speaking, free from pain, he was worthy of
more than a passing glance.

"I'm deputy-sheriff of San Lorenzo County," he declared, "and mighty
proud o