New Year came and passed and won nothing in the way of celebration from
the three in Nelson's cabin. Bud's bones ached, his head ached, the
flesh on his body ached. He could take no comfort anywhere, under any
circumstances. He craved clean white beds and soft-footed attendance
and soothing silence and cool drinks--and he could have none of those
things. His bedclothes were heavy upon his aching limbs; he had to wait
upon his own wants; the fretful crying of Lovin Child or the racking
cough of Cash was always in his ears, and as for cool drinks, there was
ice water in plenty, to be sure, but nothing else. Fair weather came,
and storms, and cold: more storms and cold than fair weather. Neither
man ever mentioned taking Lovin Child to Alpine. At first, because
it was out of the question; after that, because they did not want to
mention it. They frequently declared that Lovin Child was a pest, and
there were times when Bud spoke darkly of spankings--which did not
materialize. But though they did not mention it, they knew that Lovin
Child was something more; something endearing, something humanizing,
something they needed to keep them immune from cabin fever.
Some time in February it was that Cash fashioned a crude pair of
snowshoes and went to town, returning the next day. He came home loaded
with little luxuries for Lovin Child, and with the simpler medicines for
other emergencies which they might have to meet, but he did not bring
any word of seeking parents. The nearest he came to mentioning the
subject was after supper, when the baby was asleep and Bud trying to cut
a small pair of overalls from a large piece of blue duck that Cash had
brought. The shears were dull, and Lovin Child's little rompers were
so patched and shapeless that they were not much of a guide, so Bud was
swearing softly while he worked.
"I didn't hear a word said about that kid being lost," Cash volunteered,
after he had smoked and watched Bud awhile. "Couldn't have been any one
around Alpine, or I'd have heard something about it."
Bud frowned, though it may have been over his tailoring problem.
"Can't tell--the old squaw mighta been telling the truth," he said
reluctantly. "I s'pose they do, once in awhile. She said his folks were
dead." And he added defiantly, with a quick glance at Cash, "Far as
I'm concerned, I'm willing to let it ride that way. The kid's doing all
right."
"Yeah. I got some stuff for that rash on his chest. I wouldn't wonder if
we been feeding him too heavy on bacon rinds, Bud. They say too much of
that kinda thing is bad for kids. Still, he seems to feel all right."