"I'm going to take you hunting," confided the Kid. "We perhaps can get a squirrel down the gulch, or perhaps a cotton-tail. Come on, hurry up!"
"Why, I ain't dressed yet," objected Molly.
"Well, dress!" said the Kid impatiently.
By this time she was well awake, and the glorious morning was getting into her lungs. Her eye disappeared, and in a few minutes she emerged fully clothed. The Kid looked her over.
"Y' ain't going that way?" he asked incredulously.
"Course not. You wait till I come back."
She stepped down on the whiffletree, her heavy waving hair falling in masses of curls and crinkles over her shoulders.
"Oh, Lord!" cried the Kid pathetically. In the entrance stood Peter, his head on one side. Molly laughed.
"I thought I'd got rid of him," complained the Kid, "and here he is!"
"Never mind," said Molly soothingly, "I can make him stand round. Come here, Peter!"