“You're an awful ignorant young man, Bob,” replied The Wounded Bad Man reproachfully. “You been raised out in the woods somewheres? A godfather, Bob, is a sort of reserve parent. When a kid is baptized there's a godfather an' a godmother present, an' for an' on behalf o' the kid they promise the preacher, just the same as the kid would if he could only talk, to renounce the devil with all his works an' pomps----” “What's his works and pumps?” demanded The Youngest Bad Man. “Well--robbin' banks an' shootin' up deputy sheriffs, et cetry, et cetry.” The Youngest Bad Man smiled wanly. “Well, Bill, all I got to say is that us three're a lovely bunch o' godfathers. Best thing we can do is to shunt the job to a godmother.” “But there ain't no godmother,” said The Worst Bad Man sadly. “It's up to us. She”--he jerked an oily thumb toward the little mound of sand and rock--“she said somethin' about teachin' him his prayers an' bringin' h'm up a big, brave, strong man--like--like his godfathers.” “Well, that's part of the job, too,” The Wounded Bad Man informed them. “I went to a Sunday-school when I was a kid, an' I know what I'm talkin' about. A godfather's got to keep his eye peeled an' see that his godchild gets a reeligious education.” “Then,” said The Youngest Bad Man, “I reckon we'd better tote along this here Bible. I just come across somethin' interestin'. It's about Jesus Christ ridin' into Jerusalem. Listen:” And The Youngest Bad Man proceeded to read from the Gospel according to St. Matthew: “And when they drew nigh unto Jerusalem, and were come to Bethphage, unto the Mount of Olives, then sent Jesus two disciples, Saying unto them, Go into the village over against you, and straightway ye shall find an ass tied, and a colt with her: loose them, and bring them unto me. And if any man say ought unto you, ye shall say, The Lord hath need of them; and straightway he will send them.” “Rot!” snapped The Worst Bad Man. “I don't believe a word of it. You try swipin' a man's jacks, with or without a colt, in this country, an' see what happens if you say the Lord hath need of them. The Lord won't save you nohow. But cut out this religious talk, Bob, an' rustle up some sagebrush for a fire. We'll heat some of this airtight milk and feed our godson before we leave.” The fire was lit forthwith, and the condensed milk prepared according to the instructions laid down by Doctor Meecham. The Worst Bad Man poured the water, while the other two godfathers guarded jealously every drop. He heated the mixture to the proper temperature, warmed the feeding bottle in it and then filled the bottle. The Wounded Bad Man sat with the baby in his lap and pressed the feeding bottle to the little stranger's lips. It was an anxious moment to the three godfathers. Would he or would he not “take hold?” He did, promptly, with a gusto that brought a howl of delight from The Worst Bad Man.