By this time the two men and boy were near enough to recognize one another, and Bob’s surmise was correct, for the rider was none other than Hal Thomas with Firefly.

“Hey, Ford, call off your dog,” yelled the agent.

“Ain’t my dog!” retorted the ranchman harshly.

“Since when?” inquired Thomas, with difficulty managing the two ponies that were plunging in fright at the antics of the snarling, snapping hound.

“About thirty minutes ago.”

“Whose is it, then?”

“This boy here.”

“Mine?” exclaimed Bob in amazement.

“Uhuh!  I ain’t no use for a dog anybody else can handle.”

But Bob did not hear the last words.  No sooner assured that the savage beast was his, than he called: 

“Steady!  Chester!  Come here, sir!”

Uncertain whether or not to obey, the dog looked from Bob to the horses.  But the boy quickly repeated his commands, running toward the hound, and the animal, with a parting snarl at the agent, turned and trotted to the side of his new master, where he took his stand as though waiting to defend him, should it be necessary.

CHAPTER XXI

AT THE RANCH

As the ranchman watched this scene, his face was a study, but he soon forgot it in listening to the conversation between Thomas and Bob.

“Do you think it was quite fair to run away while I was trying to find a pony for you?” asked the agent.

“Don’t scold, Hal,” returned Bob.  “I suppose it wasn’t quite fair.  But I wanted to surprise you by getting a job myself, without anybody’s help.”

Smiling at the boy’s independence, Thomas asked: 

“Have you got it?”

Before Bob could answer, the ranchman interposed: 

“Looks like it, don’t it?  First he won my—­I mean his—­dog, and then he won me.  Yes, Hal, Bob’s landed and you can tell Ned Higgins from me that if he tries to put up any more jokes on Bob, I’ll fix him so he can’t speak for a year.”

“All right, John,” smiled the agent.  “But I reckon he won’t try any more!”

So significant was the agent’s tone that Bob inquired anxiously: 

“You didn’t do anything to him for sending me to Mr. Ford, did you, Hal?”

“No, not much,” returned Thomas grimly.  Yet had he told the entire truth he would have said he had administered such a beating to the practical joker, upon learning where he had sent Bob, as Fairfax had never seen given by one man to another.

“Won’t you come in?” asked the ranchman.

“No, thanks.  Can’t stop.  Got to get back for a train.  Here, Bob, come and mount Firefly.  He’s yours.”

“What, you bought Firefly for this boy?” exclaimed Ford in surprise.

“That’s what.”  Then turning to Bob, he added, “Put your left foot in the stirrup and swing into the saddle.  That’s the way.  Say, John, let Bob ride back a way with me.  I want to show him a few things about a pony.”