His face was streaked with
sweat and dust, his hair disheveled, and his clothing soiled and
stained. But his eyes were bright, and his bearing eager and ready.
"What's the matter?" he demanded, grinning happily at his teacher. "What
fool thing have I done now?"
"You're doing fine," Phil returned. "I was only thinking that you don't
look much like the man I met up on the Divide that evening."
"I don't feel much like him, either, as far as that goes," returned
Patches.
Phil glanced up at the sun. "What do you say to dinner? It must be about
that time."
"Dinner?"
"Sure. I brought some jerky--there on my saddle--and some coffee. There
ought to be an old pot in the shack yonder. Some of the boys don't
bother, but I never like to miss a feed unless it's necessary." He did
not explain that the dinner was really a thoughtful concession to his
companion.
"Ugh!" ejaculated Patches, with a shrug of disgust, the work they had
been doing still fresh in his mind. "I couldn't eat a bite."
"You think that now," retorted Phil, "but you just go down to the creek,
drink all you can hold, wash up, and see how quick you'll change your
mind when you smell the coffee.
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