When he
opened them, the boy had disappeared. Jeff saw that his horse had been
tied up in the shade of a scrub-oak.
"That boy seems to have some sense," he reflected. "This is a knock-
out, sure."
Again he closed his eyes. A blue jay began to chatter; and when he had
finished his screed, a cock-quail challenged the silence. Very soon
the wilderness was uttering all its familiar sounds. Jeff, lying flat
on his back, could hear the rabbits scurrying through the chaparral.
After an interminable delay his ears caught the crackle of dry twigs
snapped beneath a human foot.
"Feelin' lonesome?"
"I'm mighty glad to see you again," Jeff admitted. "Ah, water! That's
a sight better'n whisky."
He drank thirstily, for the sun was high in the heavens, and the road
as hot as an oven.
"I reckoned you'd come back," Jeff continued.
"Why?"
"To earn that dollar." He eyed the lad's somewhat ragged overalls.
"Say--what do they call ye to home?"
"Bud."
"Bud, eh? Short for brother. Folks got a fam'ly." He reflected that
Bud's sister, if he had one, might be nice-looking. "Well, Bud, I'm
under obligations to ye, for hitchin' up the plug in the shade.
Pages:
352
353
354
355
356
357
358
359
360
361
362
363
364
365
366
367
368
369
370
371
372
373
374
375
376