(Business of fury, anger and indignation, with signs of approaching tears on part of listening lady.) "You blithering old idiot!" I shrieked, "do you mean to say that you loaded the kid with that sort of a story till he went off and drowned those valuable pups under the mistaken impression that they were deformed and therefore worthless?" I glared at him as if to wither his old carcass with one look. (More of above mentioned business by lady--with real tears.) "Well"--and the old renegade emitted that infernal chuckle again--"well, how should I sense that he didn't savvy that crooked tails and a glass eye were sure enough signs of birth an' breedin' with them there Boston terriers?" He looked away; we felt sure he dared not face the wrath in both our eyes. I stormed up and down the porch for a few moments, speechless. The lady was registering every known phase of indignation. Her voice, however, was silent. Evidently there are times in her life when words fail her. This was one of them. "Where's that kid?" I finally demanded. "I want to have a little heart to heart talk with that _hombre_! As for you"--and I tried to look the indignation I knew the madam felt--"it seems to me your fondness for picking loads into idiots green enough to be fooled by such a gabbling old ass as you are has gone just about far enough. After I've seen the kid, I'll talk to you further." Old Dad was slowly and carefully reloading his pipe. From his shirt pocket he dug a match. With most aggravating deliberation he struck it on the door-post against which he leaned, held it over the bowl, gave several long pulls at the pipe to assure himself it was well lit before he even deigned to raise his keen gray eyes to mine. The madam's face was a study in expression. "Where's the kid?" I really thought he had not heard my first inquiry as to the whereabouts of that individual. "Where's he at?" with the grandest look of innocent inquiry on his weather beaten face that could possibly be imagined. For mere facial expression he should be a star performer in some big movie company. "Yes!" I snapped out the words as if to annihilate him. "I want to hold sweet converse with him, _muy pronto, sabe_?" "Well, he's _vamosed_--drifted yonderly" and he waved his pipe towards the eastern horizon. "Ahead of the sheriff?" I never did have much faith in the young gentleman from Missouri. "Yep--in a way he was." Once more that devilish chuckle. I saw the old man evidently had a story concealed about his person and that, with his usual contrariness the more we crowded him the longer he would be in getting it out of his system. I dropped angrily into the porch swing, where I could watch his face, while the madam sat herself down on the steps of the porch apparently utterly oblivious of everything but the sage-dotted prairie spread out before us. Finally the aged provision spoiler began to emit words.