He had signified a desire to have Bud carry him along the wall, where some lovely lumps of dirt protruded temptingly over a bulging log. Then he leaned and grabbed with his two fat hands at a particularly big, hard lump. It came away in his hands and fell plump on the blankets of the bunk, half blinding Bud with the dust that came with it. “Hey! You'll have all the chinkin' out of the dang shack, if you let him keep that lick up, Bud,” Cash grumbled, lifting his eyebrows at the mess. “Tell a worl'!” Lovin Child retorted over his shoulder, and made another grab. This time the thing he held resisted his baby strength. He pulled and he grunted, he kicked Bud in the chest and grabbed again. Bud was patient, and let him fuss--though in self-defense he kept his head down and his eyes away from the expected dust bath. “Stay with it, Boy; pull the darn roof down, if yuh want. Cash'll get out and chink 'er up again.” “Yeah. Cash will not,” the disapproving one amended the statement gruffly. “He's trying to get the log outa the wall, Bud.” “Well, let him try, doggone it. Shows he's a stayer. I wouldn't have any use for him if he didn't have gumption enough to tackle things too big for him, and you wouldn't either. Stay with 'er, Lovins! Doggone it, can't yuh git that log outa there nohow? Uh-h! A big old grunt and a big old heave--uh-h! I'll tell the world in words uh one syllable, he's some stayer.” “Tell a worl'!” chuckled Lovin Child, and pulled harder at the thing he wanted. “Hey! The kid's got hold of a piece of gunny sack or something. You look out, Bud, or he'll have all that chinkin' out. There's no sense in lettin' him tear the whole blame shack to pieces, is there?” “Can if he wants to. It's his shack as much as it's anybody's.” Bud shifted Lovin Child more comfortably on his shoulder and looked up, squinting his eyes half shut for fear of dirt in them. “For the love of Mike, kid, what's that you've got? Looks to me like a piece of buckskin, Cash. Here, you set down a minute, and let Bud take a peek up there.” “Bud--pik-k?” chirped Lovin Child from the blankets, where Bud had deposited him unceremoniously. “Yes, Bud pik-k.” Bud stepped up on the bunk, which brought his head above the low eaves. He leaned and looked, and scraped away the caked mud. “Good glory! The kid's found a cache of some kind, sure as you live!” And he began to claw out what had been hidden behind the mud. First a buckskin bag, heavy and grimed and knobby. Gold inside it, he knew without looking. He dropped it down on the bunk, carefully so as not to smash a toe off the baby. After that he pulled out four baking-powder cans, all heavy as lead. He laid his cheek against the log and peered down the length of it, and jumped down beside the bunk. “Kid's found a gold mine of his own, and I'll bet on it,” he cried excitedly. “Looky, Cash!”