"I want to--the worst kind. My! Look at that cunning little curl! And her shape! You know nothing o' that yet, Bud, but I tell ye, sir, yer sister is put up just right according to my notions. Not too tall. Them strung-out, trained-to-a-hair, high-falutin girls never did fetch me. I like 'em round, and soft, and innocent. What's her name, sonny?" "Sarah." "Sairy! Bud, I don't believe that. Sairy! I never did cotton to Sairy. Yer pullin' my leg, ye young scallywag. The nerve! No--ye don't." Jeff had stretched out a long, lean arm, and seized the boy by the shoulder in a grasp which tightened cruelly. "Oh--oh!" "Tell me her right name, ye little cuss, or I'll squeeze ye into pulp." "Lemmee go! Dad calls her Sadie." Jeff released the shoulder, grinning. "Sadie--that's a heap better. I--I could love to--to distraction a girl o' the name o' Sadie." "If Sadie were here----" Bud had removed himself to a respectful distance, and was now glaring at Jeff, and rubbing his bruised shoulder. "I wish she was, I wish she was. You were saying, Bud----" "I was saying that if Sadie were here, she'd fix you mighty quick." "Would she? God bless her!" He stared sentimentally at the photograph. "Yes, she would. She'd let you know that a girl may be round--an' soft--an' innocent--and a holy terror, too, when a big, blundering galoot of a dep'ty-sheriff talks o' loving somebody to whom he's never been introduced, and never likely to be, neither." Jeff looked up in amazement. "Why, Bud; why, sonny--ye're real mad! Why, you silly little whipper- snapper, ye don't think I'd talk that way if the young lady was around. Great Scot! Look ye here! Now--now I ain't goin' to hurt ye any. Come nearer. Ye won't? Well, then, don't! But, strictly between ourselves, I'll tell ye something, although it's agen myself. If your sister was here, right now, I--I'm so doggoned bashful--I wouldn't have a word to say--that's a fact." "I wish she were here," said Bud, savagely. "Now, Bud; that's a real nasty one. Ye don't mean that. Did I hurt yer shoulder, sonny?" "Hurt it? I'll bet it's black and blue most already." "I'll bet it ain't. Pull down your shirt, an' let's see. Black and blue? You air a little liar." Bud slowly pulled up the sleeve of his faded blue jumper. Hand and wrist were burnt brown by the sun, but above, the flesh was white and soft. Just below the elbow flamed the red and purple marks left by Jeff's fingers. "The shoulder's a sight worse than that," said Bud sulkily. Jeff displayed honest concern. "Pore little Bud," said he, patting the boy's hand which lay in his own. "It is lucky fer me Miss Sadie ain't round. I reckon she _would_ fix me for this. And I shouldn't have a word for her, as I was tellin' ye. She'd think me the biggest kind of a mug." So speaking, he picked up the photograph and half slipped it into the case. "Twon't do fer me to look at her," he murmured; "but if ever there was a case----" "Eh?" "Never mind."