The boy grinned. "I reckon you're rich?"

"Why?"

"'Cause you got a heap of ca'tridges. They cost money."

"Never mind. Go ahead and shoot."

Jimmy blazed away again and ran to see where his bullets had hit the
stump. "She's a pretty fair gun," he said as he handed it back. "But I
reckon I'll have to stick to my ole twenty-two rifle. She's gettin' wore
out, but I can hit things with her, yet. I git rabbits."

"Now, mebby you got time to tell us something about Aunt Jane and Uncle
Frank and Dorry," suggested Cheyenne.

"Why, they're all right," said the boy. "Why didn't you stop by to our
place instead of bushin' way up here?"

Cheyenne hesitated. "I reckon I'll be comin' over," he said finally.

Bartley put the Luger away. The boy turned to his father. Cheyenne's
face expressed happiness, yet Bartley was puzzled. The boy was not what
could be termed indifferent in any sense, yet he had taken his father's
presence casually, showing no special interest in their meeting. And why
had Cheyenne never mentioned the boy? Bartley surmised that there was
some good reason for Cheyenne's silence on that subject--and because it
was obvious that there was a good reason, Bartley accepted the
youngster's presence in a matter-of-fact manner, as though he had known
all along that Cheyenne had a son. In fact, Cheyenne had not stopped to