in on this other when snow comes."

Bud turned his head and looked at Cash intently for a minute.
"I've been drunker'n a fool for three days," he announced
solemnly.

"Yeah. You look it," was Cash's dry retort, while he stared
straight ahead, up the steep, shadowed trail.



CHAPTER ELEVEN. THE FIRST STAGES

For a month Bud worked and forced himself to cheerfulness, and
tried to forget. Sometimes it was easy enough, but there were
other times when he must get away by himself and walk and walk,
with his rifle over his shoulder as a mild pretense that he was
hunting game. But if he brought any back camp it was because the
game walked up and waited to he shot; half the time Bud did not
know where he was going, much less whether there were deer within
ten rods or ten miles.

During those spells of heartsickness he would sit all the
evening and smoke and stare at some object which his mind failed
to register. Cash would sit and watch him furtively; but Bud was
too engrossed with his own misery to notice it. Then, quite
unexpectedly, reaction would come and leave Bud in a peace that
was more than half a torpid refusal of his mind to worry much
over anything.