Mary sat at the window sewing—a continuous performance with her these days. The sound of a horse approaching caused her to glance up just as a faint call for "Buck" reached her. One look and the sewing fell to the floor as she sprang to her feet, crying out for Jake as she ran. With Swallow nuzzling at her dress, she supported Pickles until Jake came to aid; he lifted the boy from the saddle and carried him into the house. Mary hastily got out the whiskey and Pickles gulped down a mouthful before he realized what it was. He choked, and pushed away the cup. "Don’t want it," he declared, weakly; "ain’t never goin’ to drink." "Good boy," encouraged Mary, patting his head. "You stick to that." "Where ’s Buck?" asked Pickles. "He ain’t come back yet," answered Mary. "Where is he?" insisted Pickles. "I don’t know," was the patient reply. "I gotta find Buck," the boy declared, starting to rise. Mary pushed him back. "How can you find him when you don’t know where he is?" "Ain’t he som’er’s on th’ range?" "No; him an’ Whit rode off Twin River way this mornin’ an’ they ain’t neither of ’em back yet." "Well, I gotta find him, an’ I gotta find him now," declared Pickles. "Lemme go." "What’s eatin’ you?" demanded Jake. "_You_ ain’t fitten to ride _no_ place an’ I ’m mortally certain you can’t walk." "Shut yore trap, Woolly-face. What’s a sheep like you know, anyhow? Nothin’! Can’t even dig holes less ’n yo ’re prodded with lead. Lemme go." The whiskey was having an effect on Pickles or he never would have shown malice like this. Besides, it was not true and Pickles knew it. To all questions he had but one answer and Mary was in despair when Hopalong strode into the room. Hoppy wanted to know things—"Where’d you get that horse?" he asked, sharply. "Huh?" queried Pickles. "Where ’d you get that horse—that horse you was ridin’?" "That’s Rose’s horse—where ’s Buck?" "Rose who?" "Huh? French Rose. Say, where’s Buck?" "French Rose, hey? Say, Mary, that’s th’ horse got away from me with that cow-killin’ screech-owl th’ other night." "That horse? Rose LaFrance’s horse? Oh, Billy!" It seemed that Mary was deeper in Buck’s confidence than his old friend Hopalong, in this matter, at all events. "Say you, blast you! Where’s Buck? Lemme go! What’s eatin’ you? Ah, h—l!" Pickles relaxed under the grasp of Jake’s hands and limply essayed to retrieve his reputation. "I asks yore pardon, ma’am. I promises Buck I won’t never swear afore a lady an’ here I goes an’ does it, first time I ’m mad." Hoppy eyed the penitent keenly. "Say, Bud; what’s wrong?" he asked, quietly. "Buck ain’t got no better friend than me and I ’ll find him for you; but there ain’t no good huntin’, less ’n I got somethin’ to say when I get there."