He wanted the diary to go on as usual.

He had promised, he said, to keep one for the widow who wanted a record of the way the work was carried on, and the progress made.

Bud could not see that there had been much progress, except as a matter of miles.

Put a speedometer on one of his legs, he told Cash, and he'd bet it would register more mileage chasing after them fool burros than his auto stage could show after a full season.

As for working the widow's claim, it was not worth working, from all he could judge of it.