"
"Got a compass?"
"Yes."
"Then lay yer course north by northwest three p'ints and ye'll hit the
Red Star plumb in the eye--if ye don't miss it," and the miner laughed
coarsely. "Know anybody there?"
"Mr. Munson, Richard Munson."
"Dick Munson, eh?" returned the man, with increasing interest.
"I'll be going now. Much obliged for directing me, at least," said
Tad, turning away and starting with compass in hand.
The men said something to each other in a low tone, but Tad paid no
attention to them, hurrying away as fast as his weary limbs would
carry him.
"Hey, young feller, come back here."
Tad did so reluctantly.
"Sorry we can't give ye anything to eat. My pardner and I reckon
though that ye can milk the goat if ye want to."
"The goat?"
"Yep. The goat's our milk wagon--she gives milk for the outfit."
At first he thought they were joking, but Tad suddenly realized that
the men were in earnest.
"I--I never milked a goat," he replied hesitatingly.
"Well, if yer hungry enough ye'll try."
"Where is the goat?"
"Oh, I dunno. Browsing hereabouts, I reckon. Look her up if ye want
to. We ain't got time."
"Thank you. I'll try."
"Mebby you'll find her over in that little draw there to the left,"
suggested the miner.
Tad sought the draw and after some search came upon the goat rather
unexpectedly.
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