"You--" The coyote skin rattled a little.

A fluff of yellow, a spark of blue, and "Pik-k ?" chirped Lovin Child from under the edge, and ducked back again out of sight.
Bud sat down weakly on a box and shook his head slowly from one side to the other.

"You've got me going south," he made solemn confession to the wobbling skin--or to what it concealed.

"I throw up my hands, I'll tell the world fair." He got up and went over and sat down on his bunk, and rested his hands on his knees, and considered the problem of Lovin Child.
"Here I've got wood to cut and water to bring and grub to cook, and I can't do none of them because I've got to ride herd on you every minute.
You've got my goat, kid, and that's the truth.

You sure have.