Cabin Fever

"Say, old-timer, you need a hair cut. Yuh know it?" he said, with a

huskiness in his voice, and pulled a tangle playfully. Then his eyes

swung round defiantly to Cash. "It's stealing to keep him, but I can't

help it. I'd rather die right here in my tracks than give up this little

ole kid. And you can take that as it lays, because I mean it."

Cash sat quiet for a minute or two, staring down at the floor. "Yeah.

I guess there's two of us in that fix," he observed in his dry way,

lifting his eyebrows while he studied a broken place in the side of his

overshoe. "All the more reason why we should protect the kid, ain't it?

My idea is that we ought to both of us make our wills right here and

now. Each of us to name the other for guardeen, in case of accident,

and each one picking a name for the kid, and giving him our share in the

claims and anything else we may happen to own." He stopped abruptly, his

jaw sagging a little at some unpleasant thought.

"I don't know--come to think of it, I can't just leave the kid all my

property. I--I've got a kid of my own, and if she's alive--I ain't heard

anything of her for fifteen years and more, but if she's alive she'd

come in for a share. She's a woman grown by this time. Her mother died

when she was a baby. I married the woman I hired to take care of her and

the house--like a fool. When we parted, she took the kid with her. She

did think a lot of her, I'll say that much for her, and that's all I can

say in her favor. I drifted around and lost track of 'em. Old woman,

she married again, and I heard that didn't pan out, neither. Anyway, she

kept the girl, and gave her the care and schooling that I couldn't give.

I was a drifter.

"Well, she can bust the will if I leave her out, yuh see. And if the old

woman gets a finger in the pie, it'll be busted, all right. I can write

her down for a hundred dollars perviding she don't contest. That'll fix

it. And the rest goes to the kid here. But I want him to have the use of

my name, understand. Something-or-other Markham Moore ought to suit all

hands well enough."

Bud, holding Lovin Child on his knees, frowned a little at first. But

when he looked at Cash, and caught the wistfulness in his eyes, he

surrendered warm-heartedly.

"A couple of old he-hens like us--we need a chick to look after," he

said whimsically. "I guess Markham Moore ought to be good enough for

most any kid. And if it ain't, by gosh, we'll make it good enough! If

I ain't been all I should be, there's no law against straightening up.

Markham Moore goes as it lays--hey, Lovins?" But Lovin Child had gone to

sleep over his foster fathers' disposal of his future. His little yellow

head was wabbling on his limp neck, and Bud cradled him in his arms and

held him so.