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CHAPTER III. "FIVE HUNDRED DOLLARS REWARD"

'WE KEPT a-rambling all the time. I rustled grub, he rustled rhyme,'" quoted

Billy Byrne, sitting up and stretching himself.

His companion roused and came to one elbow. The sun was topping the scant

wood behind them, glinting on the surface of the little creek. A robin hopped

about the sward quite close to them, and from the branch of a tree a hundred

yards away came the sweet piping of a song bird. Farther off were the distance-

subdued noises of an awakening farm. The lowing of cows, the crowing of a

rooster, the yelping of a happy dog just released from a night of captivity.

Bridge yawned and stretched. Billy rose to his feet and shook himself.

"This is the life," said Bridge. "Where you going?"

To rustle grub," replied Billy. "That's my part o' the sketch."

The other laughed. "Go to it," he said. "I hate it. That's the part that has come

nearest making me turn respectable than any other. I hate to ask for a hand-out."

Billy shrugged. He'd done worse things than that in his life, and off he trudged,

whistling. He felt happier than he had for many a day. He never had guessed that

the country in the morning could be so beautiful.

Behind him his companion collected the material for a fire, washed himself in the

creek, and set the tin can, filled with water, at the edge of the kindling, and

waited. There was nothing to cook, so it was useless to light the fire. As he sat

there, thinking, his mind reverted to the red mark upon Billy's wrist, and he

made a wry face.

Billy approached the farmhouse from which the sounds of awakening still

emanated. The farmer saw him coming, and ceasing his activities about the

barnyard, leaned across a gate and eyed him, none too hospitably.

I wanna get something to eat," explained Billy.

Got any money to pay for it with?" asked the farmer quickly.

No," said Billy; "but me partner an' me are hungry, an' we gotta eat."

The farmer extended a gnarled forefinger and pointed toward the rear of the

house. Billy looked in the direction thus indicated and espied a woodpile. He

grinned good naturedly.

166

The Mucker