"No; I want you to do something else for me."
"We'll all go," offered Walter. The three lads started on a run, Chunky holding his precious divining rod tightly clasped in both hands.
"What is it you wish?" questioned Tad.
"I wish you would ride over toward that small butte and cut a load of brush. Want to rip-rap the outer edge of this water hole, so the bank will not cave in and undo all our work! Have you a hatchet?"
"Yes, in my saddlebags."
"Good. Hurry, please."
Tad leaped into the saddle, and putting spurs to his broncho, tore through the high bunch grass, above which only his head was now observable. In a short time he was back with the green stuff piled high on the saddle in front of him, with a large bundle tied to the cantle of the saddle behind.
Unloading this, Butler started back at a gallop for more. When there was work to be done, Tad Butler was happy. Activity to him was a tonic that spurred him on to ever greater efforts.
This time he found himself obliged to climb higher up the butte in order to get branches of available size. These he cut and threw down. After having procured what he thought would be all he could carry the lad scrambled down, and, dropping on his knees began tying them into bundles. The heat was sweltering, and occasionally be paused to wipe away the perspiration.
"I smell smoke," sniffed Tad. "I wonder where it comes from?"