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.”

CHAPTER 19

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.