“You wait,” said Lin. “After this show is through I'll put it on you.”
“Will you, honest? Belt an' everything? Did you ever shoot a bear?”
“Lord! lots.”
“Honest? Silver-tips?”
“Silver-tips, cinnamon, black; and I roped a cub onced.”
“O-h! I never shot a bear.”
“You'd ought to try it.”
“I'm a-going to. I'm a-going to camp out in the mountains. I'd like to see you when you camp. I'd like to camp with you. Mightn't I some time?” Billy had drawn nearer to Lin, and was looking up at him adoringly.
“You bet!” said Lin; and though he did not, perhaps, entirely mean this, it was with a curiously softened face that he began to look at Billy. As with dogs and his horse, so always he played with what children he met—the few in his sage-brush world; but this was ceasing to be quite play for him, and his hand went to the boy's shoulder.
“Father took me camping with him once, the time mother was off. Father gets awful drunk, too. I've quit Laramie for good.”