The dog was entirely rested, having slept the better part of two days and nights.  He seemed to know that Whitey was his new owner.  Dogs have an instinct for that sort of thing.  And though Bull was civil and friendly enough with every one else on the ranch, he took to Whitey by selection.

At six o’clock each night Bull sat near the ranch-house front door as though waiting for some one.  He waited a long time.  Bill Jordan, who prided himself on what he knew about dogs, and men, said that Bull’s former owner probably was a city man, and was in the habit of coming home at six; that the dog was waiting for him to appear.  Be that as it may, in the days to come Bull gave up this custom.  No one knew what he felt about the loss of his old master.  He became a Montana dog.  The city was to know him no more.

Now he waddled along after Whitey, who was making for a straw stack, near the stable.  Among the field mice, gophers, rabbits, and such that thought this stack was a pretty nice place to hang around, were two hens that were of the same opinion.  At least they made their nests in the stack and laid their eggs there.  And they were the only hens that the Bar O boasted, for hens were scarce in Montana in those days—­as Buck said, “almost as scarce as hen’s teeth, an’ every one knows there ain’t no such thing.”

It was Whitey’s particular business to gather the eggs of those hens, which they saw fit to lay early in the morning.  So Whitey came to the stack early, to be ahead of any weasels or ferrets, who had an uncommon fondness for eggs.  This morning as he moved around the stack he didn’t find any eggs, but he saw something black and pointed sticking out of the straw.  Whitey took hold of the object and pulled, and the thing lengthened out in his hands.

And right there a sort of shivery feeling attacked Whitey’s spine and moved up until it reached his hair, which straightway began to stand on end, for the object was a boot and in it was a man’s leg.  The boot came, followed by the leg, followed by a man.  From what might be called the twin straw beds, another man emerged.  Both sat upright in the straw and rubbed their eyes.  Whitey didn’t wait to see if any more were coming, or even to think of where he was going.  He fled.

Instinct took him toward the ranch house, and good fortune brought Bill Jordan out of the door at the same moment.

“Bill!” yelled Whitey, “there’s two men in the straw stack!”

Bill did not appear unduly excited.  “They ain’t eatin’ the straw, are they?” he inquired.

“No, but they look awfully tough, and they nearly gave me heart-disease,” Whitey panted.

“If tough-lookin’ folks could give me heart-disease, I’d of bin dead long ago,” Bill responded.  “Let’s go an’ size ’em up.”

Bill strolled to the stack with Whitey.  The two men, now thoroughly awake, were still sitting upright in the straw.  In front of them stood Sitting Bull.  His lower jaw was sticking out farther than usual, and he was watching the men and awaiting events.