“I didn't hear a word said about that kid being lost,” Cash volunteered, after he had smoked and watched Bud awhile. “Couldn't have been any one around Alpine, or I'd have heard something about it.”
Bud frowned, though it may have been over his tailoring problem.
“Can't tell—the old squaw mighta been telling the truth,” he said reluctantly. “I s'pose they do, once in awhile. She said his folks were dead.” And he added defiantly, with a quick glance at Cash, “Far as I'm concerned, I'm willing to let it ride that way. The kid's doing all right.”
“Yeah. I got some stuff for that rash on his chest. I wouldn't wonder if we been feeding him too heavy on bacon rinds, Bud. They say too much of that kinda thing is bad for kids. Still, he seems to feel all right.”
“I'll tell the world he does! He got hold of your old pipe to-day and was suckin' away on it, I don't know how long. Never feazed him, either. If he can stand that, I guess he ain't very delicate.”
“Yeah. I laid that pipe aside myself because it was getting so dang strong. Ain't you getting them pants too long in the seat, Bud? They look to me big enough for a ten-year-old.”
“I guess you don't realize how that kid's growing!” Bud defended his handiwork “And time I get the seams sewed, and the side lapped over for buttons—”
“Yeah. Where you going to get the buttons? You never sent for any.”
“Oh, I'll find buttons. You can donate a couple off some of your clothes, if you want to right bad.”
“Who? Me? I ain't got enough now to keep the wind out,” Cash protested. “Lemme tell yuh something, Bud. If you cut more saving, you'd have enough cloth there for two pair of pants. You don't need to cut the legs so long as all that. They'll drag on the ground so the poor kid can't walk in 'em without falling all over himself.”