Having had three days of experience by which to judge, he jumped to the conclusion that Lovin Child had been in mischief again.
"Now what yuh up to, you little scallywag ?" he demanded.

"How did you get hold of that?
Consarn your little hide, Boy..." "Let the kid have it," Cash muttered gruffly.

"I gave it to him." He got up abruptly and went outside, and came in with wood for the cookstove, and became exceedingly busy, never once looking toward the other end of the room, where Bud was sprawled upon his back on the bunk, with Lovin Child astride his middle, having a high old time with a wonderful new game of "bronk riding." Now and then Bud would stop bucking long enough to slap Lovin Child in the face with the soft side of the rabbit fur, and Lovin Child would squint his eyes and wrinkle his nose and laugh until he seemed likely to choke.

Then Bud would cry, "Ride 'im, Boy! Ride 'im an' scratch 'im.

Go get 'im, cowboy--he's your meat!" and would bounce Lovin Child till he squealed with glee.
Cash tried to ignore all that.