CHAPTER 14

“That’s the way they all do,” said the old man.  “They all gape the same fool way when they see Diablo the first time.”

“Is that the wild horse?” asked Bull in his gentle voice.  “That’s him.  I s’pose after seeing Tod handle him, you’ll want to try to ride him right off?”

Bull looked in the direction in which the horse had disappeared.  He swallowed a lump that had risen in his throat and shook his head sadly.

“Nope.  You see, I dunno nothing about horses, really.”

The old man regarded him with a new and sudden interest.

“Takes a wise man to call himself a fool,” he declared axiomatically.

Bull took this dubious bit of praise as an invitation and came slowly closer to the other.  He had the child’s way of eyeing a stranger with embarrassing steadiness at a first meeting and thereafter paying little attention to the face.  He wrote the features down in his memory and kept them at hand for reference, as it were.  As he drew nearer, the old man grew distinctly serious, and when Bull was directly before him he gazed up into the face of Bull with distinct amazement.  At a distance the big man did not seem so large because of the grace of his proportions; when he was directly confronted, however, he seemed a veritable giant.

“By the Lord, you are big.  And who might you be, stranger?”

“My name’s Charlie Hunter; though mostly folks call me just plain Bull.”

“That’s queer,” chuckled the other.  “Well, glad to know you.  I’m Bridewell.”

They shook hands, and Bridewell noted the gentleness of the giant.  As a rule strong men are tempted to show their strength when they shake hands; Bridewell appreciated the modesty of Charlie Hunter.

“And you didn’t come to ride Diablo?”

“No.  I just stopped in to see him.  And—­” Bull sighed profoundly.

“I know.  He gives even me a touch now and then, though I know what a devil he is!”

“Devil?” repeated Bull, astonished.  “Why, he’s as gentle as a kitten!”

“Because you seen Tod ride him?” Bridewell laughed.  “That don’t mean nothing.  Tod can bully him, sure.  But just let a grown man come near him—­with a saddle!  That’ll change things pretty pronto!  You’ll see the finest little bit of boiled-down hell-raising that ever was!  The jingle of a pair of spurs is Diablo’s idea of a drum—­and he makes his charge right off!  Gentle?  Huh!” The grunt was expressive.  “And what good’s a hoss if he can’t be rode with a saddle?” He waved the subject of Diablo into the distance.  “They ain’t any hope unless Hal Dunbar can ride him.  If he can’t, I’ll shoot the beast!”

“Shoot him?” echoed Bull Hunter.  He took a pace back, and his big, boyish face clouded to a frown.  “Not that, I guess!”

“Why not?” asked Bridewell, curious at the change in the big stranger.  “Why not?  What good is he?”