CHAPTER XX

BOB BECOMES OWNER OF A DOG

Interestedly Bob gazed about him as he entered, for the first time in his life, the home of a ranchman.  At the left of the door, a bunk, covered with brilliant-colored blankets—­which, had the boy known they were the handiwork of Indians, would have interested him greatly—­extended from the wall.  Above this crude bed was a rack holding three rifles and several revolvers.  On the opposite side of the room were a cupboard and table, while in the rear was another cupboard, and a stove.  A rocking and two straight-backed chairs completed the furnishings.

Just what Bob had expected to find in the cabin he could not have told, but its severity and barrenness disappointed him.

“Sit down,” grunted the ranchman, motioning Bob to one of the straight-backed chairs while he himself sank into the rocker.

As Bob obeyed, the dog stretched himself at his feet.

Searchingly the ranchman scanned the boy’s face, and the silence was becoming embarrassing when Ford broke it by demanding suddenly: 

“What did you say your name was?”

“Bob Nichols.”

“Where do you come from?”

“New York.”

This answer caused the ranchman to sit up straight and again scrutinize the boy’s features, as he asked: 

“Got any folks?”

“No, sir.”

“Live alone in New York?”

“No, sir.  With my guardian.”

“What made you come out here?”

“I wanted to be a cowboy and make my fortune.”

“Cow punching ain’t a paved highway to riches.”

“But you are rich, aren’t you?”

At this leading question, the grizzled man of the plains scowled, a suspicion of Bob’s purpose in seeking a job with him flashing into his mind as he replied: 

“Mebbe I am and mebbe I ain’t.  What made you think I was?”

“Mr. Higgins and the other men said you were.”

“Huh! them fellows had better mind their own business,” grunted the ranchman; but the ingenuous reply and the open honesty of the boy’s face banished his suspicions, and he continued his questioning.

The length to which the catechising extended amazed Bob, in view of what he had been told and had read in regard to not asking questions, and he made his replies as brief as possible, taking good care to give only the most general information about himself.

Perceiving this, Ford finally asked: 

“How much wages do you want?”

“I’ll leave that to you, Mr. Ford.  As I don’t know anything about ranching, I don’t expect much and I’m willing to trust you to do what is right.”

This confidence in his squareness appealed more to the ranchman than anything else Bob could have said or done.

Leading the life of a recluse as he did and assuming a manner of forbidding austerity when forced to meet his fellows, the man had been endowed by them with a reputation for close—­if not sharp—­dealing, and this trust in him evinced by the boy moved him deeply, and with a voice in which there was a half sob, he returned: