“By the Lord,” cried Bull, “and I haven’t thanked you yet for pulling me out of that mess.  I’d be crow’s food by this time if it hadn’t been for you, Pete!”

“That only wipes out one score.  Let’s talk about you, Bull.  Since I last seen you, you’ve got to be a man.  Was it dropping Hood that made you buck up like this?”

“That old man?”

“That old man,” snorted Pete, “is Jack Hood, one of the best of ’em with a gun.  But if it wasn’t the fight that made you feel your oats, was it breaking Diablo?”

“No breaking to it.  We just got acquainted.”

“But what’s happened?  What’s wakened you, Bull?”

“I dunno,” said Bull and became thoughtful.

“Pete,” he said, after a long time, “have you ever noticed a sort of chill that gets inside you when the right sort of a girl smiles and—­”

“The devil,” murmured Pete Reeve, “it’s the girl that’s happened to you, eh?  You forget her, Bull.  I’m going to take you on the trail with me and keep you from thinking.  It’s a new trail for me, Bull.  It’s a trail where I’m going straight, I can’t take you with me while I’m playing against the law.  So I’m going to stay inside the law—­with you.”

“Maybe,” and Bull Hunter sighed.  “But no matter how far the trail leads, I’m thinking that some day I’ll ride in a circle and come back to this place where we started out together.”

He turned in the saddle.

The outline of the Dunbar house was fading into the night.