"Hell!" said Bob, thinking of his gun lying at the bottom of the spring.
"Hunh?" said Bud, thinking that he had time in plenty to ride to Prosser's ranch before dark.
"Hell, you damn' fool!" Bob looked at him with his mouth drawn down at the corners like a child about to cry.
"Oh, sure," Bud agreed, without having the faintest idea of what had been said.
Bob's mouth opened, closed again very slowly. He was staring from Bud's face to the brooch in Bud's hand, and at the fingers softly caressing the carved face of the woman.
"Looks like her," said Bob with much sarcasm.
"A—a little." Bud's forefinger closed tenderly upon the profile.
"Say, come out of it!" growled Bob. "What about Butch?"
"Butch? Why, Butch will get killed if he crosses my trail again. Why?" Young Bud's eyes turned surprisedly toward Bob.
"Goin' to keep up the hunt, knowin' he's p'pared to jump us the minute we find it?"