in his pocket when they got in.

"You can say that we're from Los Angeles, and on our way home,"
Foster told him curtly. It was evident to Bud that the two had
not quite agreed upon some subject they had discussed. "That's
all right. I'm Foster, and he's named Brown--if any one gets
too curious"

"Fine. Fine because it's so simple. I'll eat another sandwich,
if you don't mind, before I go. I'll tell a heartless world that
fifteen miles is some little stroll--for a guy that hates
walkin'."

"You're paid for it," Mert growled at him rudely.

"Sure, I'm paid for it," Bud assented placidly, taking a bite.
They might have wondered at his calm, but they did not. He ate
what he wanted, took a long drink of the coffee, and started off
up the hill they had rolled down an hour or more past.

He walked briskly, and when he was well out of earshot Bud
began to whistle. Now and then he stopped to chuckle, and
sometimes he frowned at an uncomfortable thought. But on the
whole he was very well pleased with his present circumstances.



CHAPTER SIX. BUD TAKES TO THE HILLS

In a little village which he had glimpsed from the top of a