Bud sniffed. "If you hadn't had yore guns this mornin' I'd like to know where you'd 'a' been."
"True enough. I can't travel unarmed because of Indians an' bad men. What I say is that some day we'll all be brave enough to go without our hog-legs. I'll be glad when that day comes."
"An' when you two went up Escondido Cañon after the Mescaleros that had captured Miss Roubideau? I heard Dad Wrayburn tellin' all about it at supper here one night. Well, what if you hadn't had any guns?" persisted Bud.
"That would have been tough luck," admitted Prince, holding up the leather to examine his work. "Learn to shoot if you like, Bud, but remember that guns aren't made to kill folks with. They're for buffaloes an' antelope an' coyotes."
"Didn't you ever kill any one?"
"Haven't you had any bringin' up?" Billie wanted to know indignantly "I've a good mind to put you across my knee an' whale you with this leather. I've a notion to quit you here an' now. Don't you know better than to ask such questions?"
"It—it slipped out," whimpered Bud. "I'll never do it again."
"See you don't. Now I'm goin' to give you a chance to make good with me an' my friend, Bud. Can you keep a secret?"
The eyes of the boy began to shine. "Crickey. You just try me, Mr.
Prince."
"All right. I will. But first I must know that you are our friend."