The shake of the squaw's bandannaed head was more artfully vague than her gesture.

"Don' know--modder die--fadder die--ketchum long ways--off." "Well, what's its name ?" Bud's voice harshened with his growing interest and bewilderment.

The baby was again covering one twinkling eye with its spread, pink palm, and was saying "Pik-k ?" and laughing with the funniest little squint to its nose that Bud had ever seen.

It was so absolutely demoralizing that to relieve himself Bud gave the squaw a shake.

This tickled the baby so much that the chuckle burst into a rollicking laugh, with a catch of the breath after each crescendo tone that made it absolutely individual and like none other--save one.
"What's his name ?" Bud bullied the squaw, though his eyes were on the baby.
"Don't know!" "Take--Uvin--Chal," the baby demanded imperiously.
"Uh--uh--uh?
Take!" "Uvin Chal?
Now what'd yuh mean by that, oletimer ?" Bud obeyed an overpowering impulse to reach out and touch the baby's cheek with a mittened thumb.