gesture as though he would throw it into the street, and a man
behind him laughed abruptly. Bud scowled and turned toward him a
belligerent glance, and the man stopped laughing as suddenly as
he had begun.

"If you've got money to throw to the birds, brother, I guess I
won't make the proposition I was going to make. Thought I could
talk business to you, maybe--but I guess I better tie a can to
that idea."

Bud grunted and put the ten dollars in his pocket.

"What idea's that?"

"Oh, driving a car I'm taking south. Sprained my shoulder, and
don't feel like tackling it myself. They tell me in here that you
aren't doing anything now--" He made the pause that asks for an
answer.

"They told you right. I've done it."

The man's eyebrows lifted, but since Bud did not explain, he
went on with his own explanation.

"You don't remember me, but I rode into Big Basin with you last
summer. I know you can drive, and it doesn't matter a lot whether
it's asphalt or cow trail you drive over."

Bud was in too sour a mood to respond to the flattery. He did
not even grunt.