Bud might have brought home a winged angel, or a rainbow, or a casket of jewels, and Cash would not have permitted himself to show any human interest.
But when Bud went teetering from the cabin on his toes to bring in some pine cones they had saved for quick kindling, Cash craned his neck toward the little bundle on the bunk.

He saw a fat, warm little hand stir with some baby dream.

He listened and heard soft breathing that stopped just short of being an infantile snore.

He made an errand to his own bunk and from there inspected the mystery at closer range.

He saw a nose and a little, knobby chin and a bit of pinkish forehead with the pale yellow of hair above.