mes this noon again. Do you
want yours sent out to any of the outfits? Or shall I just hold it?"

"Just hold it, when there is any. At least, until I see whether I land a
job here. I wonder where I could find the boss?" Bud was glancing often
at her hands. For a ranch girl her hands were soft and white, but her
fingers were a bit too stubby and her nails were too round and flat.

"Uncle Dave will be home at noon. He's out in the meadow with the boys.
You might sit down and wait."

Bud looked at his watch. Sitting down and waiting for four hours did not
appeal to him, even supposing the girl would keep him company. But he
lingered awhile, leaning with his elbows on the counter near her; and by
those obscure little conversational trails known to youth, he progressed
considerably in his acquaintance with the girl and made her smile often
without once feeling quite certain that he knew what was in her mind.

He discovered that her name was Honora Krause, and that she was called
Honey "for short." Her father had been Dutch and her mother a Yankee,
and she lived with her uncle, Dave Truman, who owned Little Lost ranch,
and took care of the mail for him, and attended to the store--which
was nothing more than a supply depot kept for the accommodation of the
neighbors. The store, she said, was in the next room.

Bud asked her what Little Lost meant, and she replied that she did not
know, but that it might have something to do with Sunk Creek losing
itself in The Sinks. There was a Little Lost river, farther across the
mountains, she said, but it did not run through Little Lost ranch, nor
come anywhere near it.

After that she questioned him adroitly. Perversely Bud declined to
become confidential, and Honey Krause changed the subject abruptly.

"There's going to be a dance here next Friday night. It'll be a good
chance to get acquainted with everybody--if you go. There'll be good
music, I guess. Uncle Dave wrote to Crater for the Saunders boys to come
down and play. Do you know anybody in Crater?"

The question was innocent enough, but perverseness still held Bud. He
smiled and said he did not know anybody anywhere, any more. He said that
if Bobbie Burns had asked him "Should auld acquaintance be forgot," he'd
have told him yes, and he'd have made it good and strong. But he added
that he was just as willing to make new acquaintance, and thought the
dance would be a good place to begin.

Honey gave him a provocative glan