“Looks like you was expectin’ comp’ny,” he said, smiling.

“Yep.  And chuck’s about ready.”

“So am I,” said Bud, rubbing his hands.

“I’m Adams, from Stacey.”

“That don’t make me mad,” said Bud.  “How’s things over to your town?”

“All right, I guess.  Mr. Torrance—­”

Bud waved his hand.  “Let’s eat.  Been out since daylight.  Them biscuits is just right.  Help yourself to the honey.”

“There’s somebody outside,” said Lorry, his arm raised to pass the honey jar.

“That’s my dog, Bondsman.  He had to size up your layout, and he’s through and waitin’ to size up you.  Reckon he’s hungry, too.  But business before pleasure is his idea mostly.  He’s tellin’ me to let him in.  That there dog bosses me around somethin’ scandalous.  When did you get in?”

“About sundown.”

“Uh-uh.  I seen that your horse hadn’t grazed out far yet.  How do you like this country?”

“Good summer country, all right.  Too high for stock in winter.”

“Yes.  Four feet of snow on the mesa last winter.  When you say ‘Arizona’ to some folks, they don’t think of snow so deep a hoss can’t get from the woods over there to this cabin.”  Bud Shoop sighed and rose.  “Never mind them dishes.  Mornin’ ’ll do.”

“Won’t take a minute,” said Lorry.

Bud’s blue eyes twinkled as he waddled to the living-room.  Young Adams was handy around a kitchen.  He had laid plates for two, knew how to punch dough, was willing to wash the dishes without a hint, and had fed the horse in the corral.

“He trots right along, like he knew where he was goin’,” Bud said to himself.  “I like his looks—­but that ain’t always a sign.”

Lorry whistled as he dried the dishes.  Bud was seated in a huge armchair when Lorry entered the room.  Shoop seemed to pay no attention to Bondsman, who whined and occasionally scratched on the door.

“Funny thing happened this mornin’,” said Shoop, settling himself in his chair.  “I was ridin’ down the ole Milk Ranch Trail when I looked up and seen a bobcat lopin’ straight for me.  The cat didn’t see me, but my hoss stopped, waitin’ for me to shoot.  Well, that kittycat come right along till I could ‘a’ almost roped him.  Bondsman—­that’s my dog—­never seen him, neither, till I hollered.  You ought to seen that cat start back without losin’ a jump.  I like to fell off the hoss, laughin’.  Bondsman he lit out—­”

“I’ll let him in,” said Lorry, moving toward the door.

“—­After that cat,” continued Shoop, “but the cat never treed, I reckon, for pretty soon back comes Bondsman, lookin’ as disgusted as a hen in a rainstorm.  ‘We’re gettin’ too old,’ I tells Bondsman—­”

“Ain’t you goin’ to let him in?” queried Lorry.

“—­We’re gettin’ too old to chase bobcats just for fun,” concluded Shoop.  “What was you sayin’?”

“Your dog wants to come in.”