"Blakeley and Westy," he said, and I could see he was pretty serious now; "I went into that passageway with that kid on my back. I was ready to crawl a mile and drag him along if I had to. As it turned out, the passage was about a couple of hundred feet long and came out in the old creek bed, like I said—up above the flood area. Blakeley, when I saw the light of day—or the light of night rather, because anything was lighter than that black hole—and when I laid that skinny little kid down—he doesn't weigh fifty pounds, Blakeley—I just said to myself, 'By the great Eternal, I'm going to stick to him like glue!' That's what I said. Even then I didn't know he had been over to plead with those fellows and ask them please not to believe he was a thief. When I heard that—"
"I know, Bert," I told him, "you're right."
"I'm not thinking about myself," he said; "my troop understands me; and they understand Skinny. He could bunk with us, or with you fel: lows. But this is better."
"I hope nobody'll raise a kick," Westy said.
Bert said, "A kick? We're the ones to raise a kick. Haven't I got anything to say about it? I couldn't bring the kid here—I'm not a horse. So
