“Here, sugar. Hand it over quick. Now, there we are. How do you mix ’em, Lucy?” She gave the directions, which the men carefully followed, compounding a white, milky-looking liquid. The crucial moment came when they had to feed this to the crimson and convulsively screaming baby. To forward matters better they moved two boxes to the doorway, where the glow of sunset streamed in, and seated themselves, Fletcher with the dipper and spoon, Moreau with the baby. Both heads were lowered, both faces eagerly earnest when the first spoonful was administered. It was a tense moment till the tip of the spoon was inserted between the infant’s lips. Her puckered face took on a look of rather annoyed surprise; she caught at it, and then, with an audible smack, slowly drew in the counterfeit. The men looked at each other with heated triumph. “Takes it like a little man, doesn’t she?” said Moreau proudly. “She wasn’t hungry,” said Fletcher. “Oh-h, no! Listen to her smack.” “Here, hold up the dipper. Don’t keep her waiting when she’s so blamed hungry.” “You’re spilling half of it. You’re getting it on her clothes.” “Well, she don’t want to eat any faster. That’s the way she likes to eat--just slowly suck it out of the spoon. Take your time, old girl, even if you don’t swallow it all.” “My! don’t she take it down nice! Look alive there, it’s running outer the corner of her mouth.” “Give us that bit of flour sack behind you. We ought to have put something round her neck.” The baby, its round eyes intent, one small red fist still fanning the air, sucked noisily at the tip of the spoon. The mother, sitting up on the bunk in the background, watched it with craned neck and jealous eye. Finally, when the meal was over, it was triumphantly handed back to her, sticky from end to end, but sleepy and satisfied. A few hours later, in the star-sown darkness of the early night, Moreau started on his twelve-mile walk to the Porter ranch. The next morning, some time before midday, he reappeared, red and perspiring, but proudly leading by a rope a lean and dejected-looking cow. The problem of the baby’s nutriment was now satisfactorily solved. The cow proved eminently fitted for the purpose of its purchase, and though the two miners had several unsuccessful bouts in learning to milk it, the handy Fletcher soon overcame this difficulty, and the stock of the cabin was augmented by fresh milk.