He found him busy amidst a pile of stores spread out upon the floor and table, and a mild surprise greeted the youngster as he looked round from his occupation.
“You never said—you were getting stores, Buck?”
The Padre eyed the pile curiously. Finally his eyes paused at the obvious ammunition cases.
Buck followed the direction of his gaze.
“No,” he said; and turned again to his work of bestowing the goods in the places he had selected for them.
The Padre crossed the room and sat down. Then he leisurely began to exchange his moccasins for a pair of comfortable house-shoes.
“Had we run short?” he asked presently.
“No.”
Buck’s manner was touched with something like brusqueness.
“Then—why?”