“And you let him?” queried Crazy Ned, staring at the boy as though he must be daft.

“Why not?”

“You’re liable to wake up in mincemeat some fine day, that’s all,” commented Yellow Tom drily.

“Oh, I guess not,” answered Bob.  “Chester and I are good friends, aren’t we, my boy?” and dismounting, he called the dog to him and stroked his head.

A moment the cowboys watched the proceeding in amazement, then Shorty Flinn voiced their feelings by saying: 

“Am I dreamin’ or is this tenderfoot pattin’ that ornery cur?”

“He’s pattin’ him, all right,” returned Merry Dick.  “Say, kid, you’re a wonder.  There ain’t no man ever dared touch that dog so long as I’ve known about him and that’s for ten years.”

“But can you make him mind?” demanded Yellow Tom.

“Surely.”

“Then stop his growlin’ at me.”

Recognizing this as a test, Bob stroked the dog’s head caressingly, saying, in a matter-of-fact tone: 

“Stop growling, boy.  None of these men are going to harm me.”

A moment the dog looked at Bob, then leisurely glanced from one to another of the cowboys—­and stopped snarling.

“That beats all,” declared Crazy Ned.  “Say, kid, you don’t need to fear anybody’s playin’ tricks on you when that brute is with you.”

“No, I guess not,” smiled Bob.  And then in a burst of confidence he added:  “But I don’t want people to be nice because they are afraid of Chester.  If they don’t like me for myself, I don’t want them to like me at all.”

“That’s all right, kid.  But there’s some ornery critturs wearin’ the clothes of cowboys, so just take advice of a man who knows and keep the dog with you,” said Yellow Tom.

“Yellow’s givin’ it to you straight,” asserted Shorty Flinn.  “There’s some folks ain’t never happy unless they’re makin’ others onhappy.”

Bob took the advice in the spirit it was given and, while Merry Dick was putting together enough food to last them for the three days he was to be with the boy, chatted and joked with them, answering such questions as he saw fit and turning off those he did not care to.  And such manliness and good nature did he display that he won the respect of the four cowpunchers, than whom there were no harder characters riding the plains.

At last Merry Dick had stowed the food in his saddle bags, unhobbled and made ready his broncho, and as he waited for Bob to mount, the others began to tease him.

“No tricks, now,” said one.  “Remember what John said about the comparative value of cowboys and steers.  Don’t put salt instead of sugar in Bob’s coffee.”

“Don’t worry about me,” laughed Bob.  “With Chester my friend, we’re more likely to play tricks on Merry Dick than he is to play any on us.”

And amid the shouts of merriment this suggestion produced, the cowboy and his youthful companion galloped away.