When Dud returned to the cabin young Dillon had recovered his composure. He lay on the bunk, face to the wall, and pretended to be asleep.
The lard in the White River country was all made in those days of bear grease and deer tallow mixed.
CHAPTER XX
“THE BIGGER THE HAT THE SMALLER THE HERD”
Combing Crooked Wash that afternoon Bob rode with a heavy and despondent heart. It was with him while he and Dud jogged back to the ranch in the darkness. He had failed again. Another man had trodden down the fears to which he had afterward lightly confessed and had carried off the situation with a high hand. His admiration put Hollister on a pedestal. How had the blond puncher contrived to summon that reserve of audacity which had so captivated the Utes? Why was it that of two men one had stamina to go through regardless of the strain while another went to pieces and made a spectacle of himself?
Bob noticed that both in his report to Harshaw and later in the story he told at the Slash Lazy D bunkhouse, Dud shielded him completely. He gave not even a hint that Dillon had weakened under pressure. The boy was grateful beyond words, even while he was ashamed that he needed protection.