“Cold water—­and plenty of it,” murmured Jeff.

“Or hot?”

“Mebbee hot’d be better.”

Bud disappeared, whistling.

“That boy’s earning a five-dollar bill,” said Jeff.  “I’m a liar if he ain’t as bright as they make ’em.”

The hot water was brought and some linen.

“I feel a heap better,” Jeff declared presently.

“How about dinner?”

“Bud, if ever I hev a son I hope he’ll be jest like you.  Say—­you’re earning big money—­d’ye know it?—­and my everlastin’ gratitude.”

“That’s all right.  Hadn’t I better bring the grub out here?  It’s nice and cool under this tree.”

Jeff nodded.  The bacon and beans were brought out and consumed.  Bud, however, refused to eat.  He preferred to wait for his father.  Jeff asked some questions, as he stowed away the bacon and beans.

“Your dad must be an awful nice man,” said he.

“He’s the best and smartest man in the State,” said Bud proudly.

“Is he!  And you two are campin’ out for yer health—­eh?  Ye can’t fool me, Bud.”

“Oh!”

“I sized you up at once as a city boy.”

“You’re more than half right.”

“I’m all right, Bud.  In my business I have to be all right.  Bless you, it don’t do to make mistakes in my business.”

“And what is your business?”

Jeff beamed.  He was certainly a good-looking fellow, and warmed by food and, comparatively speaking, free from pain, he was worthy of more than a passing glance.

“I’m deputy-sheriff of San Lorenzo County,” he declared, “and mighty proud of it.”

“Proud of this yere county?” said the boy, “or proud of being dep’ty-sheriff?”

“By Jing!  I’m proud o’ both.  The county’s comin’ along fine, and so’m I, Bud.  It’s a fact, sonny, that I’m held in high esteem as an officer.  Why, my boss said to me this very day:  ‘Jeff,’ says he, ’yer makin’ a record.’”

“What sort o’ record?”

Jeff flushed slightly.  He was not in the habit of “tooting his own horn,” as he would have put it, but the boy’s face invited confidence.

“A record for dooin’ my duty,” he answered slowly. “’Tain’t as easy as you might think for.”

“No?”

“Not by no means.  Ye see, Bud, in a new country ’tisn’t only the real bad eggs that worries us.  The community can deal with them.  No, no, it’s the good fellers gone wrong, the straight ’uns grown crooked, who keep us stirrin’.  And, sometimes, when a friend, a neighbour, flies the track, an officer is kind o’ tempted to look the other way.  See?”

“And you don’t look the other way?”

Jeff’s strong chin stuck out, and his eyes sparkled “You bet I don’t.”

The boy eyed him attentively.  The qualities conspicuous in the pioneer—­energy, fortitude, grit, patience—­shone finely out of Jeff’s eyes.

“I like you, Jeff,” said the boy, almost shyly.