"Yeah. But what are we going to call him?" Methodical Cash wanted the

whole matter settled at one conference, it seemed.

"Call him? Why, what've we been calling him, the last two months?"

"That," Cash retorted, "depended on what devilment he was into when we

called!"

"You said it all, that time. I guess, come to think of it--tell you

what, Cash, let's call him what the kid calls himself. That's fair

enough. He's got some say in the matter, and if he's satisfied with

Lovin, we oughta be. Lovin Markam Moore ain't half bad. Then if he wants

to change it when he grows up, he can."

"Yeah. I guess that's as good as anything. I'd hate to see him named

Cassius. Well, now's as good a time as any to make them wills, Bud. We

oughta have a couple of witnesses, but we can act for each other, and I

guess it'll pass. You lay the kid down, and we'll write 'em and have

it done with and off our minds. I dunno--I've got a couple of lots in

Phoenix I'll leave to the girl. By rights she should have 'em. Lovins,

here, 'll have my share in all mining claims; these two I'll name

'specially, because I expect them to develop into paying mines; the

Blind Lodge, anyway."

A twinge of jealousy seized Bud. Cash was going ahead a little too

confidently in his plans for the kid. He did not want to hurt old Cash's

feelings, and of course he needed Cash's assistance if he kept Lovin

Child for his own. But Cash needn't think he was going to claim the kid

himself.

"All right--put it that way. Only, when you're writing it down, you make

it read 'child of Bud Moore' or something like that. You can will him

the moon, if you want, and you can have your name sandwiched in between

his and mine. But get this, and get it right. He's mine, and if we ever

split up, the kid goes with me. I'll tell the world right now that this

kid belongs to me, and where I go he goes. You got that?"

"You don't have to beller at the top of your voice, do yuh?" snapped

Cash, prying the cork out of the ink bottle with his jackknife. "Here's

another pen point. Tie it onto a stick or something and git to work

before you git to putting it off."

Leaning over the table facing each other, they wrote steadily for a few

minutes. Then Bud began to flag, and finally he stopped and crumpled the

sheet of tablet paper into a ball. Cash looked up, lifted his eyebrows

irritatedly, and went on with his composition.

Bud sat nibbling the end of his makeshift penholder. The obstacle that

had loomed in Cash's way and had constrained him to reveal the closed

pages of his life, loomed large in Bud's way also. Lovin Child was a

near and a very dear factor in his life--but when it came to sitting

down calmly and setting his affairs in order for those who might be left

behind, Lovin Child was not the only person he must think of. What of

his own man-child? What of Marie?




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