“Shut your damn mouth!” Bud commanded him savagely, and went on running. At the tunnel mouth he stopped and blinked, blinded for a moment by the strong sunlight in his face. Cash stumbled and lost ten seconds or so, picking himself up. Behind him Bud heard Cash panting, “Now, Bud, don't go and make--a dang fool--” Bud snorted contemptuously and leaped the dirt pile, landing close to Marie, who was just then raising herself dizzily to an elbow. “Now, Bud,” Cash called tardily when he had caught up with him, “you leave that girl alone! Don't you lay a finger on her! That's my--” Bud lifted his lips away from Marie's and spoke over his shoulder, his arms tightening in their hold upon Marie's trembling, yielding body. “Shut up, Cash. She's my wife--now where do you get off at?” (That, o course, lacked a little of being the exact truth. Lacked a few hours, in fact, because they did not reach Alpine and the railroad until that afternoon, and were not remarried until seven o'clock that evening.) “No, no, no!” cried Lovin Child from a safe distance. “Tell a worl' no, no!” “I'll tell the world yes, yes!” Bud retorted ecstatically, lifting his face again. “Come here, you little scallywag, and love your mamma Marie. Cash, you old donkey, don't you get it yet? We've got 'em both for keeps, you and me.” “Yeah--I get it, all right.” Cash came and stood awkwardly over them. “I get it--found my girl one minute, and lost her again the next! But I'll tell yeh one thing, Bud Moore. The kid's' goin' to call me grampaw, er I'll know the reason why!” End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Cabin Fever, by B. M. Bower