Lark hunched his wet shoulders, glancing sidelong at the flushed face of the boy.
"Damn' right," he growled. "So would you, Bud—or any man with a heart in him. Why—damn it, they had 'im out in the field, workin'. Followin' a big, heavy drag around. Made me so darn sore I just swiped him up into the saddle and rode for the hills." He took off his hat, tilting it so that the water ran out of the curled brim to the steps.
"You sure as hell annexed a bunch of trouble, Lark. Where was it you kidnaped him?"
"Got him off the Palmer ranch. Think he's a grandson of the old man. They'll hunt him, chances are. This rain's a godsend—they'll never track me home."
Bud grinned to himself and turned, carrying his burden inside and laying him on a roomy, cowhide-covered couch where the child sprawled slackly, without a movement of limbs to show he had been disturbed in his sleep. The two men stood looking down at him.
His light brown hair was curly, with damp rings clinging to his forehead. His lashes were long and curled up at the ends, his round face had the deep sun-tan of the prairies. Palmer was called a rich man, but the boy's overalls were faded and old, each knee a gaping, ragged-edged hole. His thin elbows stuck out through the ragged sleeves of a dirty, blue gingham shirt. Lark bent and twitched aside the loose collar, open for want of a button.
"Look at that," he gritted, exposing a long, greenish-blue mark on the shoulder. "Old man Palmer ain't paid for that yet, but he's goin' to some day. The kid won't forget it—I won't let 'im forget. You wait till he's full-growed."
"They'll come after him, Lark."
"Let 'em." Lark straightened and hitched up his belt. "Just let 'em try, that's all." His head swung toward a closed door. "Oh, Maw-w!"
Stodgy, flat-footed steps sounded in the next room. The door was pulled open from the farther side and a queer, goblin creature of the female sex looked in, smiling and showing just three lonely teeth in the full expanse of her mouth. Her head would reach to the Bull-Durham tag that dangled from Lark's breast pocket; a large head, much too large for so short a woman. The swelling goiter was not pretty to behold, and her graying hair was combed straight up and twisted into a hard little biscuit on top of her round head. But Lark's eyes softened wonderfully at sight of her, and Bud's lips twitched into a quick smile and his hand reached up automatically to take off his hat.