Bull switched the talk to a more comfortable topic.  “But how’d you make a start with that man-eating Diablo?”

Tod studied, the question.  “I got a way with hosses, you see,” he began modestly.

He played two brown fingers in his mouth and sent out a shrilling whistle that was answered immediately by a whinny, and a little chestnut gelding, sun-faded to a sand color nearly, cantered into view around the corner of a shed and approached them.  He came to a pause nearby, and having studied Bull Hunter with large, unafraid, curious eyes for a moment, began to nibble impertinently at the ragged hat brim of the child.

“Git away!” exclaimed Tod, and when the chestnut made no move to go, the brown fist flashed up at the reaching head.  But the head was jerked away with a motion of catlike deftness.

“He’s a terrible bother, Crackajack is,” said the boy angrily, and from the corner of his eye he stole a glance of unspeakable pride at the big man.

“He’s a beauty,” exclaimed Bull Hunter.  “A regular beauty!”

For Crackajack combined the toughness of a mustang and the lean, strong running lines of a thoroughbred in miniature.  His legs were as delicately made as the legs of a deer; his head was a little model of impish intelligence and beauty.

“You and Crackajack are pals,” said Bull.  “I guess that’s what you are!”

“We get on tolerable well,” admitted the boy, whose heart was full with this praise of his pet.

Bull continued on the agreeable topic.  “And I’ll bet he’s fast, too.  He looks like speed to me!”

“Maybe you don’t know hosses, but you sure got hoss sense.”  Tod chuckled.  “Most folks take Crackajack for a toy pony.  He ain’t.  I’ve seen him carry a full-grown man all day and keep up with the best of ’em.  He don’t mind the weight of me no more’n if I was a feather.  He’s fast, he’s tough, and he knows more’n a hoss should know, you might say!”

He changed his voice, and a brief command made Crackajack give up his teasing and retreat.  Bull watched the exquisite little creature go, with a smile of pleasure.  He did not know it, but that smile unlocked the last door to Tod’s heart.

“He was pretty near as wild as Diablo when I first got him,” said the boy.  “And mean—­say, he’d been kicked around all his life.  But I fatted him up in the barn, and he got so’s he’d follow me around.  And now he runs loose like a dog and comes when I whistle.  He knows more things than you could shake a stick at, Crackajack does.”  “I’ll bet he does,” said Bull with shining eyes.

“Say,” said the boy suddenly, “I’m going to tell you about the way I worked with Diablo.”

“I’ll take that mighty kind,” said Bull gratefully.  “D’you think I’d have a chance with him even if you showed me how?”

“You got to have a way with hosses,” admitted the boy, and he examined Bull again.  “But I think you’ll get on with hossflesh pretty well.  When Diablo first come, he used to go plumb crazy when anybody come near his corral.  He still does if a growed man comes there.  Well, they used to go out and stand and watch him and laugh at him prancing around and kicking up a fuss at the sight of ’em.