It was enough; barely that and no more, for the long walk had made him ravenous, and the keenness of his spirits served to put a razor edge on an appetite which was already sharp.  He began eating before the regular breakfast at the little hotel was ready.  He ate while the other men were present.  He was still eating when they left.

“How much?” he said when he was done.

His host scratched his head.

“I figure three times a regular meal ought to be about it,” he said.  “Even then it don’t cover everything; but matter of fact, I’m ashamed to charge any more.”

His ruefulness changed to a grin when he had the money in his hand, and Bull Hunter rose from the table.

“But you got something to feed, son,” he said.  “You certainly got something to feed.  And—­is what the boys are saying right?”

It came to Bull that while he sat at the table there had been many curious glances directed toward him, and a humming whisper had passed around the table more than once.  But he was accustomed to these side glances and murmurs, and he had paid no attention.  Besides, food had been before him.

“I don’t know.  What do they say?”

“That you’re Dunbar from the South—­Hal Dunbar.”

“That’s not my name,” said Bull.  “My name is Hunter.”

“I guess they were wrong,” said the other.  “Trouble is, every time anybody sees a big man they say, ‘There goes Hal Dunbar.’  But you’re too big even to be Dunbar I reckon.”

He surveyed the bulk of Bull Hunter with admiring respect.  This personal survey embarrassed the big man.  He would have withdrawn, but his host followed with his conversation.

“We know Dunbar is coming up this way, though.  He sent the word on up that he’s going to come to ride Diablo.  I guess you’ve heard about Diablo?”

Bull averred that he had not, and his eyes went restlessly down the road.  It wove in long curves, delightfully white with the bordering of green on either side.  He could see it almost tossing among the far-off hills.  Now was the time of all times for walking, and if Pete Reeve started to trail him this morning, he would need to put as much distance behind him by night as his long legs could cover.  But still the hotel proprietor hung beside him.  He wanted to make the big man talk.  It was possible that there might be in him a story as big as his body.

“So you ain’t heard of Diablo?  Devil is the right name for him.  Black as night and meaner’n a mountain lion.  That’s Diablo.  He’s big enough and strong enough to carry even you.  Account of him being so strong, that’s why Dunbar wants him.”

“Big enough and strong enough to carry me?” repeated Bull Hunter.

He had had unfortunate experiences trying to ride horses.  His weight crushed down their quarters and made them walk with braced legs.  To be sure, that was up in the high mountains where the horses were little more than ponies.