Outside, on the wagon tongue, sat the Kid patiently waiting, his little rifle across his knees, one bare foot digging away at the dust, his lips puckered to cheerful sibilance, his wide gray eyes turning every once in awhile to the canvas cover of the schooner. He discovered Molly looking out. The whistle abruptly stopped. "Come on out, Molly," said he. "I ben waiting for you a long time." "My! it's so awful early!" yawned Molly. "What do you want to do?" "I'm going to take you hunting," confided the Kid. "We perhaps can get a squirrel down the gulch, or perhaps a cotton-tail. Come on, hurry up!" "Why, I ain't dressed yet," objected Molly. "Well, dress!" said the Kid impatiently. By this time she was well awake, and the glorious morning was getting into her lungs. Her eye disappeared, and in a few minutes she emerged fully clothed. The Kid looked her over. "Y' ain't going that way?" he asked incredulously. "Course not. You wait till I come back." She stepped down on the whiffletree, her heavy waving hair falling in masses of curls and crinkles over her shoulders. "Oh, Lord!" cried the Kid pathetically. In the entrance stood Peter, his head on one side. Molly laughed. "I thought I'd got rid of _him_," complained the Kid, "and here he is!" "Never mind," said Molly soothingly, "I can make him stand round. Come here, Peter!" At the pool of the lower creek Molly knelt, turning back the sleeves from her white arms, loosening the dress from about her round young throat. After a little she leaned back against the mosses and piled the strands of her hair, watching the interested Kid with shining eyes. "My, but you're purty!" he cried. She nodded to him, laughing. They took their way down the gulch, walking soberly in the road, while Peter skirmished unrestrained among the possibilities of the thickets at either hand. In the judgment of the Kid, this was too near town for the best hunting. The Kid talked. "You never been down here, have you?" "No," replied Molly, "I've always been up in the hills, you know; it's more fun, I think. Do you think we'll find anything down here near the road?" "Not just yet; but after we get by Bugchaser's--Say, you've never seen Bugchaser, then, have you?" "No," laughed the girl, "I should think not. What in the world is Bugchaser?" "It isn't a 'what'; it's a 'him.' He's crazy. He has a 'coon, and a bear, and a bobcat. I'd like to go up an' see 'em, but I'm scairt of him." "Is he dangerous?" asked Molly. "Pop says he eats little boys. Hoh! that ain't so, of course. But he's crazy, you know." "What makes you think so?" "He chases bugs with a fishnet." "Oh!" cried Molly comprehendingly, and began to laugh. The Kid looked at her with offended reproach. "Well," he remarked finally, "you can do what you want; but you betcher life I'm keepin' away from him!"