He and the Little Doctor had been proud of the Kid’s masculine traits as they manifested themselves in the management of that small specimen of horse flesh. That the Kid should have outgrown so quickly his content with Stubby seemed much more amazing than it really was. He eyed the Kid doubtfully for a minute, and then grinned.
“All that don’t let you out on the hat question,” he said, evading the real issue and laying stress upon the small matter of obedience, as is the exasperating habit of parents. “You don’t see any of the bunch going around bareheaded. Only women and babies do that.”
“The bunch goes bareheaded when they get their hats blowed off in the creek,” the Kid pointed out unmoved. “I’ve seen you lose your hat mor’n once, old timer. That’s nothing.” He sent Chip a sudden, adorable smile which proclaimed him the child of his mother and which never failed to thrill Chip secretly,—it was so like the Little Doctor. “You lend me your hat for a while, dad,” he said. “She never said what hat I had to wear, just so it’s a hat. Honest to gran’ma, my hat’s in the creek and I couldn’t poke it out with a stick or anything. It sailed into the swimmin’ hole. I was goin’ to go after it,” he explained further, “but—a snake was swimmin—and I hated to ‘sturb him.”
Chip drew a sharp breath and for one panicky moment considered imperative the hiring of a body-guard for his Kid.
“You keep out of the pasture, young man!” His tone was stern to match his perturbation. “And you leave Silver alone—”
The Kid did not wait for more. He lifted up his voice and wept in bitterness of spirit. Wept so that one could hear him a mile. Wept so that J. G. Whitmore reading the Great Falls Tribune on the porch, laid down his paper and asked the world at large what ailed that doggoned kid now.
“Dell, you better go see what’s wrong,” he called afterwards through the open door to the Little Doctor, who was examining a jar of germ cultures in her “office.” “Chances is he’s fallen off the stable or something—though he sounds more mad than hurt. If it wasn’t for my doggoned back—”
The Little Doctor passed him hurriedly. When her man-child wept, it Needed no suggestion from J. G. or anyone else to send her flying to the rescue. So presently she arrived breathless at the blacksmith shop’ and found Chip within, looking in urgent Need of reinforcements, and the Kid yelling ragefully beside the door and kicking the log wall with vicious boot-tees.
“Shut up now or I’ll spank you!” Chip was saying desperately when his wife appeared. “I wish you’d take that Kid and tie him up, Dell,” he added snappishly. “Here he’s been riding all the horses in the little pasture—and taking a chance on breaking his neck! And he ain’t satisfied with Stubby—he thinks he’s entitled to Silver!”
“Well, why not? There, there, honey—men don’t cry when things go wrong—”
“No—because they can take it out in cussing!” wailed the Kid. “I wouldn’t cry either, if you’d let me swear all I want to!”
Chip turned his back precipitately and his shoulders were seen to shake. The Little Doctor looked shocked.
“I want Silver for my string!” cried the Kid, artfully transferring his appeal to the higher court. “I can ride him—‘cause I have rode him, in the pasture; and he never bucked once or kicked or anything. Doggone it, he likes to have me ride him! He comes a-runnin’ up to me when I go down there, and I give him sugar. And then he waits till I climb on his back, and then we chase the other horses and play ride circle. He wants to be my string!” Something in the feel of his mother’s arm around his shoulder whispered hope to the Kid. He looked up at her with his most endearing smile. “You come down there and I’ll show you,” he wheedled. “We’re pals. And I guess YOU wouldn’t like to have the boys call you Tom Thumb, a-ridin’ Stubby. He’s nothing but a five-cent sample of a horse. Big Medicine says so. I—I’d rather walk than ride Stubby. And I’m going on roundup. The boys said I could go when I get a real horse under me—and I want Silver. Daddy Chip said ‘yes’ I could have him. And now he’s Injun-giver. Can’t I have him, Doctor Dell?”
The gray-blue eyes clashed with the brown. “It wouldn’t hurt anything to let the poor little tad show us what he can do,” said the gray-blue eyes.
“Oh—all right,” yielded the brown, and their owner threw the iron bar upon the cooling forge and began to turn down his sleeves. “Why don’t you make him wear a hat?” he asked reprovingly. “A little more and he won’t pay any attention to anything you tell him. I’d carry out that sunbonnet bluff, anyway, if I were you.”
“Now, Daddy Chip! I ‘splained to you how I lost my hat,” reproached the Kid, clinging fast to the Little Doctor’s hand.
“Yes—and you ‘splained that you’d have gone into that deep hole and drowned—with nobody there to pull you out—if you hadn’t been scared of a water snake,” Chip pointed out relentlessly.
“I wasn’t ‘zactly scared,” amended the Kid gravely. “He was havin’ such a good time, and he was swimmin’ around so—comf’table—and it wasn’t polite to ‘sturb him. Can’t I have Silver?”
“We’ll go down and ask Silver what he thinks about it,” said the Little Doctor, anxious to make peace between her two idols. “And we’ll see if Daddy Chip can get the hat. You must wear a hat, honey; you know what mother told you—and you know mother keeps her word.”
“I wish dad did,” the Kid commented, passing over the hat question. “He said I could have Silver, and keep him in a box stall and feed him my own self and water him my own self and nobody’s to touch him but me.”
“Well, if daddy said all that—we’ll have to think it over, and consult Silver and see what he has to say about it.”
Silver, when consulted, professed at least a willingness to own the Kid for his master. He did indeed come trotting up for sugar; and when he had eaten two grimy lumps from the Kid’s grimier hand, he permitted the Kid to entice him up to a high rock, and stood there while the Kid clambered upon the rock and from there to his sleek back. He even waited until the Kid gathered a handful of silky mane and kicked him on the ribs; then he started off at a lope, while the Kid risked his balance to cast a triumphant grin—that had a gap in the middle—back at his astonished parents.
“Look how the little devil guides him!” exclaimed Chip surrenderingly. “I guess he’s safe enough, old Silver seems to sabe he’s got a kid to take care of. He sure would strike a different gait with me! Lord how the time slides by; I can’t seem to get it through me that the Kid’s growing up.”
The Little Doctor sighed a bit. And the Kid, circling grandly on the far side of the little pasture, came galloping back to hear the verdict. It pleased him—though he was inclined to mistake a great privilege for a right that must not be denied. He commanded his Daddy Chip to open the gate for him so he could ride Silver to the stable and put him in the box stall; which was a superfluous kindness, as Chip tried to point out and failed to make convincing.
The Kid wanted Silver in the box stall, where he could feed him and water him his own self. So into the box stall Silver reluctantly went, and spent a greater part of the day with his head stuck out through the window, staring enviously at his mates in the pasture.
For several days Chip watched the Kid covertly whenever his small feet strayed stableward; watched and was full of secret pride at the manner in which the Kid rose to his new responsibility. Never did a “string” receive the care which Silver got, and never did rider sit more proudly upon his steed than did the Kid sit upon Silver. There seemed to be practically