At the pool of the lower creek Molly knelt, turning back the sleeves from her white arms, loosening the dress from about her round young throat. After a little she leaned back against the mosses and piled the strands of her hair, watching the interested Kid with shining eyes.
"My, but you're purty!" he cried. She nodded to him, laughing.
They took their way down the gulch, walking soberly in the road, while Peter skirmished unrestrained among the possibilities of the thickets at either hand. In the judgment of the Kid, this was too near town for the best hunting. The Kid talked.
"You never been down here, have you?"
"No," replied Molly, "I've always been up in the hills, you know; it's more fun, I think. Do you think we'll find anything down here near the road?"
"Not just yet; but after we get by Bugchaser's—Say, you've never seen Bugchaser, then, have you?"
"No," laughed the girl, "I should think not. What in the world is Bugchaser?"
"It isn't a 'what'; it's a 'him.' He's crazy. He has a 'coon, and a bear, and a bobcat. I'd like to go up an' see 'em, but I'm scairt of him."
"Is he dangerous?" asked Molly.
"Pop says he eats little boys. Hoh! that ain't so, of course. But he's crazy, you know."