Imperceptibly dusk deepened to darkness. A gust of anger swept Buddy's soul because he was tired, because he was hungry and he was yet a long way from the camp, but chiefly because Ezra persisted in calling after Buddy had several times answered. He heard someone whom he recognized as Frank Davis, but by this time he was so angry that he would not say a word, though he was tempted to ask Frank to take him up on his horse and let him ride to camp. He heard others-and once the beat of hoofs came quite close. But there was a wide streak of Scotch stubbornness in Buddy--along with several other Scotch streaks--and he continued his stumbling progress, dragging the snake by the tail, his other hand holding fast the horned toad. His heart jumped up and almost choked him when first saw the three twinkles on the ground which knew were not stars but camp-fires. Quite unexpectedly he trudged into the firelight where Step-and-a-Half was stirring delectable things in the iron pots and stopping every minute or so to stare anxiously into the gloom. Buddy stood blinking and sniffing, his eyes fixed upon the Dutch ovens. “I'm HUNGRY!” he announced accusingly, gripping the toad that had begun to squirm at the heat and light. “I kilt a snake an' I'm HUNGRY!” “Good gorry!” swore Step-and-a-Half, and whipped out his six-shooter and fired three shots into the air. Footsteps came scurrying. Buddy's mother swept him into her arms, laughing with a little whimpering sound of tears in the laughter. Buddy wriggled protestingly in her arms. “L'kout! Y' all SKUCSH 'im! I got a HAWN-toe; wight here.” He patted his chest gloatingly. “An' I got a snake. I kilt 'im. An' I'm HUNGRY.” Mother of Buddy though she was, Lassie set him down hurriedly and surveyed her man-child from a little distance. “Buddy! Drop that snake instantly'” Buddy obeyed, but he planted a foot close to his kill and pouted his lips. “'S my snake. I kilt 'im,” He said firmly. He pulled the horned toad from his waist-front and held it tightly in his two hands. “An's my hawn-toe. I ketche'd'm. 'Way ova dere,” he added, tilting his tow head toward the darkness behind him. Bob Birnie rode up at a gallop, pulled up his horse in the edge of the fire glow and dismounted hastily. Bob Birnie never needed more than one glance to furnish him the details of a scene. He saw the very small boy confronting his mother with a dead snake, a horned toad and a stubborn set to his lips. He saw that the mother looked rather helpless before the combination--and his brown mustache hid a smile. He walked up and looked his first-born over. “Buddy,” He demanded sternly, “where have you been?” “Out dere. Kilt a snake. Ants was trailing a herd. I got a HAWN-toe. An' I'm hungry!” “You know better than to leave the wagon, young man. Didn't you know we had to get out and hunt you, and mother was scared the wolves might eat you? Didn't you hear us calling you? Why didn't you answer?”