"Yeah. Well, the trail's just as good now as it was when I took it,"
Cash hinted strongly. "When I go to town again, it'll be because I've
got to go. And far as I can see, I won't have to go for quite some
time."
So Bud rose before daylight the next morning, tied on the makeshift
snowshoes Cash had contrived, and made the fifteen-mile trip to Alpine
and back before dark. He brought candy for Lovin Child, tended
that young gentleman through a siege of indigestion because of the
indulgence, and waited impatiently until he was fairly certain that
the wardrobe he had ordered had arrived at the post-office. When he had
counted off the two days required for a round trip to Sacramento, and
had added three days for possible delay in filling the order, he went
again, and returned in one of the worst storms of the winter.
But he did not grudge the hardship, for he carried on his back a bulky
bundle of clothes for Lovin Child; enough to last the winter through,
and some to spare; a woman would have laughed at some of the things he
chose: impractical, dainty garments that Bud could not launder properly
to save his life. But there were little really truly overalls, in which
Lovin Child promptly developed a strut that delighted the men and
earned him the title of Old Prospector. And there were little shirts
and stockings and nightgowns and a pair of shoes, and a toy or two that
failed to interest him at all, after the first inspection.
It began to look as though Bud had deliberately resolved upon carrying
a guilty conscience all the rest of his life. He had made absolutely no
effort to trace the parents of Lovin Child when he was in town. On the
contrary he had avoided all casual conversation, for fear some one might
mention the fact that a child had been lost. He had been careful not to
buy anything in the town that would lead one to suspect that he had a
child concealed upon his premises, and he had even furnished what
he called an alibi when he bought the candy, professing to own an
inordinately sweet tooth.
Cash cast his eyes over the stock of baby clothes which Bud gleefully
unwrapped on his bunk, and pinched out a smile under his beard.
"Well, if the kid stays till he wears out all them clothes, we'll just
about have to give him a share in the company," he said drily.
Bud looked up in quick jealousy. "What's mine's his, and I own a half
interest in both claims. I guess that'll feed him--if they pan out
anything," he retorted. "Come here, Boy, and let's try this suit on.
Looks pretty small to me--marked three year, but I reckon they don't
grow 'em as husky as you, back where they make all these clothes."