That was the reason that Tod’s eyes now were
supernally bright when big Hal Dunbar approached.
Diablo showed signs of excitement, but Charlie Hunter
quieted him with a word and went to the bars of the
corral. The hand of Dunbar was stretched out,
and Bull took it with humble earnestness.
“I’m glad you weren’t hurt bad,”
he said. “For a minute or two I was scared
that Diablo—”
“I know,” cut in Dunbar, for he detested
a new description of the scene of his failure.
Then he made himself smile. “But I’ve
come to thank you for what you did, Hunter. Between
you and me, I know that I talked rather sharp to you
a while back. I’m sorry for that. And
now—why, man, your side must be wounded!”
“It’s just a little scratch,” said
Bull good-naturedly. “It isn’t the
first time that Diablo has made me bleed but now—well,
isn’t he worth a fight, Mr. Dunbar?”
And he gestured to the magnificent, watchful head
of the stallion. The heart of Hal Dunbar swelled
in him. By fair means or foul, he must have that
horse, and on the spot he made his proposition to Hunter.
He had only to climb on the back of Diablo and ride
south with him; the pay would be anything—double
what he got from Bridewell, who, besides, was almost
through with him, Dunbar understood.
“But I’m not much good,” and Bull
sighed reluctantly. “I can’t use a
rope, and I don’t know cattle, and—”
“I’ll find uses for you. Will you
come?”
So it was settled. But before Bull climbed into
the saddle and started off after Dunbar, little Tod
drew him to one side.
“There ain’t any good in Dunbar.
Watch him and—remember me, Bull.”
That ride to the southern mountains seemed to Bull
Hunter to mark a great point of departure between
his old life and a new life.
He had not heard Riley, fox-faced and wicked of eye,
say to his master, “What this big fool needs
is a little kidding. Make him think that we figure
him to be a big gun.” He had not seen Hal
Dunbar make a wry face before he nodded.
All that Bull Hunter could know was that the three
men—Riley, Dunbar, and Joe Castor—were
all exceedingly pleasant to him on the way. Of
all the men in the world, only Pete Reeve had treated
him as these men were now doing, and it was sweet
beyond measure to Bull Hunter to be treated with considerate
respect, to have his opinion asked, to be deferred
to and flattered. As for the thousand little asides
with which they made a mock of him, they were far
above his head. It seemed only patent to Bull
Hunter that he had been accepted freely into the equal
society of men.
