Meanwhile, most of the people in the Basin went to Becky's funeral. It was a simple ceremony without tears, conducted by Jeb Cavendish. No one who had known Rebecca's life could feel sorry for her for having been released. Penny held the hands of the oldest children during the burial. She frequently felt the eyes of Yuma, standing unhatted with a number of other men, upon her, but each time she looked at the blond cowboy he was staring at the ground. Vince was there, and so were most of the cowhands. Wallie was somewhere away from the Basin. Bryant had a distant view from his seat on the porch of the house. Mort was still in bed with a bandage around his neck. Jeb seemed to enjoy his brief period as the center of attraction and postponed conclusion of the services as long as possible. When he ultimately pronounced a benediction, Yuma hurried away as if on important business. Penny led the dry-eyed youngsters toward the house. Gimlet, the cook, advanced to meet her. "Lemme take care o' the young 'uns, Miss Penny," the old man said. "Keeee-ripes, I ain't had the chance tuh tell a pack of lies tuh kids since you growed up." Penny was grateful. The children had been her responsibility since Rebecca's death, and she welcomed the chance to get away and think for a little while. "I'll be around," she said, "when you have to start supper." "Don't yuh do it now, Miss Penny, don't you do nothin' o' the sort. You leave the kids with me an' let 'em stick by me. It'll do 'em good tuh talk tuh someone 'sides them glum-actin' cousins of yores with their souls full o' vinegar till it shows in their faces." Penny smiled, "It's a deal, Gimlet. They're your responsibility till bedtime." The children, heretofore ignored, were wide-eyed at the thought that anyone could actually want their company. Gimlet's manner seemed forced. Penny fancied her old friend had worries about which he said nothing. "Yew git," he said, spanking the oldest boy playfully. "I'll be right along an' meet yuh by the kitchen door." When the children had gone, the old man with one eye turned to Penelope. "I got somethin'," he said, "tuh tell you." "Yes, Gimlet?" "I on'y got one eye, but my ears is first-rate. Mebbe I orter keep my big mouth shut, but I figger yuh orter know that yer Uncle Bryant is up tuh somethin'." "Uncle Bryant?" Penny's tone showed her surprise. She knew that Gimlet was one friend upon whom she could count. The old cook had dandled her on his knee when as a child she had come to live in the Basin. She listened eagerly. "Heard him talkin' tuh that no-good, gambling smooth-talkin' _hombre_ named Lonergan," said Gimlet. Penny remembered that Lonergan had called the night before. Bryant had taken him upstairs, behind closed doors. "Curiosity has allus been my trouble, an' when I heard talkin' between them two, I didn't shut my ears none. Couldn't git much o' what uz said, but the two of 'em was workin' over some sort o' legal paper."