lance to slant back at Mert. "Why, whatever
you fellows fake up for me to tell," he said naively. "I know the truth
ain't popular on this trip, so get together and dope out something. And
hand me over my suit case, will yuh? I want some dry socks to put on
when I get there."

Foster very obligingly tilted the suit case over into the front seat.
After that he and Mert, as by a common thought impelled, climbed out
and went over to a bushy live oak to confer in privacy. Mert carried the
leather bag with him.

By the time they had finished and were coming back, Bud had gone through
his belongings and had taken out a few letters that might prove awkward
if found there later, two pairs of socks and his razor and toothbrush.
He was folding the socks to stow away in his pocket when they got in.

"You can say that we're from Los Angeles, and on our way home," Foster
told him curtly. It was evident to Bud that the two had not quite agreed
upon some subject they had discussed. "That's all right. I'm Foster, and
he's named Brown--if any one gets too curious."

"Fine. Fine because it's so simple. I'll eat another sandwich, if you
don't mind, before I go. I'll tell a heartless world that fifteen miles
is some little stroll--for a guy that hates walkin'."

"You're paid for it," Mert growled at him rudely.

"Sure, I'm paid for it," Bud assented placidly, taking a bite. They
might have wondered at his calm, but they did not. He ate what he
wanted, took a long drink of the coffee, and started off up the hill
they had rolled down an hour or more past.

He walked briskly, and when he was well out of earshot Bud began to
whistle. Now and then he stopped to chuckle, and sometimes he frowned at
an uncomfortable thought. But on the whole he was very well pleased with
his present circumstances.

CHAPTER SIX. BUD TAKES TO THE HILLS

In a little village which he had glimpsed from the top of a hill Bud
went into the cluttered little general store and bought a few blocks of
slim, evil smelling matches and a couple of pounds of sliced bacon, a
loaf of stale bread, and two small cans of baked beans. He stuffed
them all into the pocket of his overcoat, and went out and hunted up a
long-distance telephone sign. It had not taken him more than an hour to
walk to the town, for he had only to follow a country road that branched
off that way for a couple of miles down a valley. There was a post
office and the general store and a couple of salo