Lovin Child Wriggles In

On the fourth day Bud's conscience pricked him into making a sort of
apology to Cash, under the guise of speaking to Lovin Child, for still
keeping the baby in camp.

"I've got a blame good notion to pack you to town to-day, Boy, and
try and find out where you belong," he said, while he was feeding him
oatmeal mush with sugar and canned milk. "It's pretty cold, though..."
He cast a slant-eyed glance at Cash, dourly frying his own hotcakes.
"We'll see what it looks like after a while. I sure have got to hunt up
your folks soon as I can. Ain't I, old-timer?"

That salved his conscience a little, and freed him of the uneasy
conviction that Cash believed him a kidnapper. The weather did the rest.
An hour after breakfast, just when Bud was downheartedly thinking he
could not much longer put off starting without betraying how hard it was
going to be for him to give up the baby, the wind shifted the clouds
and herded them down to the Big Mountain and held them there until they
began to sift snow down upon the burdened pines.

"Gee, it's going to storm again!" Bud blustered in. "It'll be snowing
like all git-out in another hour. I'll tell a cruel world I wouldn't
take a dog out such weather as this. Your folks may be worrying about
yuh, Boy, but they ain't going to climb my carcass for packing yuh
fifteen miles in a snow-storm and letting yuh freeze, maybe. I guess the
cabin's big enough to hold yuh another day--what?"