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As in the cabin, so here she felt the individuality in their belongings. Last night she had been tormented with the fear that there might be a wife as well as a baby boy in Bud's household. Even the evidence of the mail order, that held nothing for a woman and that was written by Bud's hand, could scarcely reassure her.
Oh, won't I rag him, though! I wonder which end you blow in?" "That isn't a musical instrument!" declared Nort, taking it from Bud's hand. "Not What is it then?" asked the western ranch lad. "It's a stethoscope," declared Nort. "Whew! x I didn't know Yellin' Kid could play one of them!" exclaimed Bud. "He must be more musical than any of us thought!"
As a young man, Bud Shoop had punched cattle on the southern ranges, cooked for a surveying outfit, prospected in the Mogollons, and essayed homesteading on the Blue Mesa, served as cattle inspector, and held for many years the position of foreman on the great Gila Ranch, where, with diligence and honor, he had built up a reputation envied by many a lively cow-puncher and seldom tampered with even by Bud's most vindictive enemies.
But ther' ain't no right on this blamed earth fer any feller to whoop it up at another feller's misdoin's, an' his ultimate undoin'. An' you kin take it how you fancy when I say only the heart of a louse could feel that-a-way an' that's about the lowest I know how to hand you." Bud's eyes were shining dangerously. They were squarely looking into the hard face of the saloon-keeper.
Sandy's blue eyes met Bud's in a flicker of distaste, but she tried to conceal her feelings. "Please sit down," she invited Unger politely. "What square-dance numbers does Mr. Morris do?" Len Unger shrugged. "You name 'em." "But, my goodness," Sandy said, puzzled, "how do we know he'll have the squares I name?" Unger stared at her as if he did not quite understand.
Bud's attitude was comforting. It had a touch of manliness and gentleness about it quite unwonted for him. It suggested beautiful possibilities for the future of his character, and Margaret smiled tenderly. "Thank you, dear boy!" she said, gently. "You certainly are a comfort. If every one was as splendid as you are we should have a model school. But I do wish I could help Rosa.
"I've discovered that we're not the only persons on this island," was Bud's chilling response. Unwelcome Visitors "Why, Bud, what do you mean?" Hal demanded, in astonishment. "Who else is on this island?" "Some men. I don't know how many," Bud replied in cautious tone. "I heard them talking about us. But keep your voice low, for this island is small and they may hear you."
You should have come earlier," he replied with an air of relief, as he turned to resume the all-absorbing topic with the proprietor. Amarilly's interest in the window display dispelled any disappointment she might have had in regard to Bud's head covering. "Now," said the clerk didactically, "my idea is this. Have a wedding a church wedding.
I'm going to keep it in mind as a future prospect." "We'll have to put up a radio station here then," said Cub. "Oh, sure, we can't do without that wherever we go now-a-days," his father replied. They skirted the entire shore of the island and found Bud's suggestion regarding high, steep banks to be true in every quarter.
What happened to you fellows?" Zimby confirmed Bud's guess that they had taken off in pursuit of the enemy craft. "We figured Bud and Mel could make out on their own," Zimby explained. "And we thought the sub's course or actions might tip us off to its nationality. Also, if it tried any sabotage or mine-planting, we could radio the Navy."
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