“How close were they sitting?” asked Hal suspiciously.

“Close enough.”  Riley grinned, for he was not averse to making even Dunbar himself writhe.

The result was that Hal maneuvered to draw Mary Hood aside when she came in with big Hunter for supper.  Something in Bull Hunter’s face disturbed the owner of the ranch, for the eyes of Bull were alight, and he was smiling for no apparent reason.

“How did things go?” he asked carelessly.

“You were all wrong about him,” said the girl earnestly.  “He’s not a half-wit by any means, Hal.  I had a hard time of it at first, but then I got him talking about Diablo and the trouble ended.  Not a bit of sentiment in him; but just like a great big, simple, honest boy, with a man’s strength.  It would have done you good to hear him!”

“And he’ll stay with us?” asked Hal dryly, for he was far from enthusiastic.

“Of course he’ll stay.  Do you know what he did?  He promised to try to teach me to ride Diablo, and he even shook hands on it!  Hal, I like him immensely!”

All during the meal the glances of Hal Dunbar alternated between the girl and the giant.  He was more disturbed than he dared to confess even to himself.  It was not so much that Bull Hunter sat with a faintly dreamy smile, staring into the future and forgetting his food, but it was the fact that Mary Hood was continually smiling across the table into that big, calm face.  Dunbar began to feel that the devil was indeed behind the wit of Riley.

He began to wait nervously for the coming of the girl’s father and the explosion.  As soon as supper was over, following the time-honored custom which the first Dunbar established on the ranch, Mary left the room, and the men gathered in groups for cards or dice or talk, for they were not ordinary hired hands, but picked men.  Many of them had grown gray in the Dunbar service.  Now was the time for the coming of Jack Hood, and Hal had not long to wait.

The door at the far side of the big room was thrown open not five minutes after the disappearance of Mary Hood, and her father entered.  He came with a brow as black as night, tossed a sharp word here and there in reply to the greetings, and going to the fireplace leaned against the mantel and rolled a cigarette.  While he smoked, from under his shaggy brows he looked over the company.

Hal Dunbar waited, holding his breath.  One brilliant picture was dawning on his mind—­himself mounted on great black Diablo and swinging over the hills at a matchless gallop.

The picture vanished.  Jack Hood had left the fireplace and was crossing the room with his alert, quick step.  His nerves showed in that step; and it was nerve power that made him a dreaded gunfighter.  His gloom seemed to have vanished now.  He smiled here; he paused there for a cheery word; and so he came to where Bull Hunter sat with his long legs stretched before him and the unchanging, dreamy smile on his face.