He's in the Cathills, away a hundred and more miles northwest of us. That's all he says. He don't give a mail address. No, Bud, I'm going to hunt him out. I'm going to find him, and bring him back. I'll find him sure. We're just one mind an' one body, an',” he added thoughtfully, “I don't guess I'll need a detective bureau to locate him. If he was chasin' around the other end of the world I'd find him—sure. You see, he's the other half of me.”
Bud nodded in sympathy, but made no verbal reply.
“See, Bud,” Jeff went on, a moment later. “The spring round-up's through. We're going to fix this deed right away. When the attorneys have robbed us all they need, and Nat's handed over, there'll be a good month to haying. That month I'm going to spend in the Cathills. I'll be back for the hay.”
The other eased himself in his rocker. Then for some moments no sound broke the silence of the room.
“It's been a heavy spring,” Bud said at last.
Jeff nodded. His thoughts were away in the Cathills.
“Seems to me,” Bud went on. “Work kind o' worries me some these times.” He smiled. “Guess the wheels need the dope of leisure. Mebbe I ain't as young as you.”
“No.”
Jeff's attention was still wandering.
“Guess the Cathills is an a'mighty big piece o' country gropin' around in,” Bud went on.
“Sure. A hell of a piece. But—it don't signify.”
“No-o,” Bud meditated. Then he added: “I was kind o' thinkin'.”
“How?”
“Why, mebbe two folks chasin' up a pin in a bunch o' grass is li'ble to halve most o' the chances agin either of 'em jabbin' their hands on the business end of it.”
“Two? You mean you're goin' to come along an' help find—Ronny?”
Jeff's eyes were expressing the thanks his lips withheld.
Bud excused himself.
“Them Cathills is plumb full of fur an' things.