BULL HUNTER

BY

MAX BRAND

BULL HUNTER

CHAPTER 1

It was the big central taproot which baffled them. They had hewedeasily through the great side roots, large as branches, covered withsoft brown bark; they had dug down and cut through the forest oftender small roots below; but when they had passed the main body ofthe stump and worked under it, they found that their hole around thetrunk was not large enough in diameter to enable them to reach to thetaproot and cut through it. They could only reach it feebly with thehatchet, fraying it, but there was no chance for a free swing to severthe tough wood. Instead of widening the hole at once, they keptlaboring at the root, working the stump back and forth, as though theyhoped to crystallize that stubborn taproot and snap it like a wire. Still it held and defied them. They laid hold of it together andtugged with a grunt; something tore beneath that effort, but the stumpheld, and upward progress ceased. 

They stopped, too tired for profanity, and gazed down the mountainsideafter the manner of baffled men, who look far off from the thing thattroubles them. They could tell by the trees that it was a highaltitude. There were no cottonwoods, though the cottonwoods willfollow a stream for more than a mile above sea level. Far below them apale mist obscured the beautiful silver spruce which had reached theirupward limit. Around the cabin marched a scattering of the balsam fir. They were nine thousand feet above the sea, at least. Still higher upthe sallow forest of lodgepole pines began; and above these, beyondthe timberline, rose the bald summit itself. 

They were big men, framed for such a country, defying the roughnesswith a roughness of their own--these stalwart sons of old BillCampbell. Both Harry and Joe Campbell were fully six feet tall, withmighty bones and sinews and work-toughened muscles to justify theirstature. Behind them stood their home, a shack better suited for thehousing of cattle than of men. But such leather-skinned men as thesewere more tender to their horses than to themselves. They slept andate in the shack, but they lived in the wind and the sun. 

Although they had looked down the stern slopes to the lower Rockies, they did not see the girl who followed the loosely winding trail. Shewas partly sheltered by the firs and came out just above them. Theybegan moiling at the stump again, sweating, cursing, and the girlhalted her horse near by. The profanity did not distress her. She wasso accustomed to it that the words had lost all edge and point forher; but her freckled face stirred to a smile of pleasure at the sightof their strength, as they alternately smote at the taproot and thenstrove in creaking, grunting unison to work it loose. 

They remained so long oblivious of her presence that at length shecalled, "Why don't you dig a bigger hole, boys?"

She laughed in delight as they jerked up their heads in astonishment. Her laughter was young and sweet to the ear, but there was not a greatdeal outside her laughter that was attractive about her. 

However, Joe and Harry gaped and grinned and blushed at her in thetime-old fashion, for she lived in a country where to be a woman issufficient, beauty is an unnecessary luxury, soon taxed out ofexistence by the life. She possessed the main essentials of socialpower; she could dance unflaggingly from dark to dawn at the nearestschoolhouse dance, chattering every minute; and she could maintain arugged silence from dawn to dark again, as she rode her pony home. 

Harry Campbell took off his hat, not in politeness, but to scratch hishead. "Say, Jessie, where'd you drop from? Didn't see you comingno ways. "

"Maybe I come down like rain, " said Jessie. 

All three laughed heartily at this jest. 

Jessie swung sidewise in her saddle with the lithe grace of a boy, dropped her elbow on the high pommel, and gave advice. "You got apretty bad taproot under yonder. Better chop out a bigger hole, boys. But, say, what you clearing this here land for? Ain't no good fornothing, is it?" She looked around her. Here and there the clearingaround the shanty ate raggedly into the forest, but still the plowedland was chopped up with a jutting of boulders. 

"Sure it ain't no good for nothing, " said Joe. "It's just the oldman's idea. "

He jerked a grimy thumb over his shoulder to indicate the controllingand absent power of the old man, somewhere in the woods. 

"Sure makes him glum when we ain't working. If they ain't nothingworthwhile to do he always sets us to grubbing up roots; and if weain't diggin' up roots, we got to get out old 'Maggie' mare and try toplow. Plow in rocks like them! Nobody but Bull can do it. "

"I didn't know Bull could do nothing, " said the girl with interest. 

"Aw, he's a fool, right enough, " said Harry, "but he just has a sortof head for knowing where the rocks are under the ground, and somehowhe seems to make old Maggie hoss know where they lie, too. Outside ofthat he sure ain't no good. Everybody knows that. "

"Kind of too bad he ain't got no brains, " said the girl. "All hisstrength is in his back, and none is in his head, my dad says. If hehad some part of sense he'd be a powerful good hand. "

"Sure would be, " agreed Harry. "But he ain't no good now. Give him anax maybe, and he hits one or two wallopin' licks with it and thenstands and rests on the handle and starts to dreaming like a fool. Same way with everything. But, say, Joe, maybe he could start thisstump out of the hole. "

"But I seen you both try to get the stump up, " said the girl inwonder. 

"Get Bull mad and he can lift a pile, " Joe assured her. "Go find him, Harry. "

Harry obediently shouted, "Bull! Oh, Bull!"

There was no answer. 

"Most like he's reading, " observed Joe. "He don't never hear nothingthen. Go look for him, Harry. "

Big Harry strode to the door of the hut. 

"How come he understands books?" said the girl. "I couldn't never makenothing out of 'em. "

"Me neither, " agreed Joe in sympathy. "But maybe Bull don'tunderstand. He just likes to read because he can sit still and do it. Never was a lazier gent than Bull. "

Harry turned at the door of the shack. "Yep, reading, " he announcedwith disgust. He cupped his hands over his mouth and bellowed throughthe doorway, "Hey!"

There was a startled grunt within, a deep, heavy voice and a thickarticulation. Presently a huge man came into the doorway and leanedthere, his figure filling it. There was nothing freakish about hisbuild. He was simply over-normal in bulk, from the big head to theheavy feet. He was no more than a youth in age, but the great size andthe bewildered puckering of his forehead made him seem older. The bookwas still in his hand. 

"Hey, " returned Harry, "we didn't call you out here to read to us. Leave the book behind!"

Bull looked down at the book in his hand, seemed to waken from atrance, then, with a muffled sound of apology, dropped the bookbehind him. 

"Come here!"

He slumped out from the house. His gait was like his body, his stridelarge and loose. The lack of nervous energy which kept his mind from ahigh tension was shown again in the heavy fall of his feet and theforward slump of his head. His hands dangled aimlessly at his sides, as though in need of occupation. A ragged thatch of blond hair coveredhis head and it was sunburned to straw color at the edges. 

His costume was equally rough. He wore no belt, but one strap, fromhis right hip, crossed behind his back, over the bulging muscles ofhis shoulder to the front of his left hip. The trousers, which thissimple brace supported, were patched overalls, frayed to loose threadshalfway down the calf where they were met by the tops of immensecowhide boots. As for the shirt, the sleeves were inches too short, and the unbuttoned cuffs flapped around the burly forearms. If it hadbeen fastened together at the throat he would have choked. He seemed, in a word, to be bulging out of his clothes. One expected a mightyrending if he made a strong effort. 

This bulk of a man slouched forward with steps both huge and hesitant, pausing between them. When he saw the girl he stopped short, and hisbrow puckered more than before. One felt that, coming from the shadow, he was dazed and startled by the brilliant mountain sunshine; and theeyes were dull and alarmed. It was a handsome face in a way, but alittle too heavy with flesh, too inert, like the rest of his body andhis muscular movements. 

"She ain't going to bite you, " said Harry Campbell. "Come on over hereto the stump. " He whispered to the girl, "Laugh at him!"

She obeyed his command. It brought a flush to the face of Bull Hunterand made his head bow. He shuffled to the stump and stood aimlesslybeside it. 

"Get down into the hole, you fool!" ordered Joe. 

He and Harry took a certain pride in ordering their cousin around. Itwas like performing with a lion in the presence of a lady; it wasmanipulating an elephant by power of the unaided voice. Slowly BullHunter dropped his great feet into the hole and then raised his head alittle and looked wistfully to the brothers for further orders. 

But only half his mind was with them. The other half was with thestory in the book. There Quentin Durward had been nodding at his guardin the castle, and the evil-faced little king had just sprung out andwrenched the weapon from the hands of the sleepy boy. Bull Huntercould see the story clearly, very clearly. The scar on the face of LeBalafré glistened for him; he had veritably tasted the little roundloaves of French bread that the adventurer had eaten with thepseudo-merchant. 

But to step out of that world of words into this keen sunlight--ah, there was the difference! The minds which one found in the pages of abook were understandable. But the minds of living men--how terriblethey were! One could never tell what passed behind the bright eyes ofother human beings. They mocked one. When they seemed sad they mightbe about to laugh. The minds of the two brothers eluded him, mockedhim, slipped from beneath the slow grasp of his comprehension. Theywhipped him with their scorn. They dodged him with their wits. Theybewildered him with their mockery. 

But they were nothing compared with the laughter of the girl. It wentthrough him like the flash and point of Le Balafré's long sword. Hewas helpless before that sound of mirth. He wanted to hold up hishands and cower away from her and from her dancing eyes. So he stood, ponderous, tortured, and the three pairs of clear eyes watched him andenjoyed his torture. Better, far better, that dark castle in ancientFrance, and the wicked Oliver and the yet more wicked Louis. 

"Lay hold on that stump, " shouted Harry. 

He heard the directions through a haze. It was twice repeated beforehe bowed and set his great hands upon the ragged projections, wherethe side roots had been cut away. He settled his grip and waited. Hewas glad because this bowed position gave him a chance to look down tothe ground and avoid their cruel eyes. How bright those eyes were, thought Bull, and how clearly they saw all things! He never doubtedthe justice behind their judgments of him; all that Bull asked fromthe world was a merciful silence--to let him grub in his books now andthen, or else to tell him how to go about some simple work, such asdigging with a pick. Here one's muscles worked, and there was noproblem to disturb wits which were still gathering wool in the pagesof some old tale. 

But they were shrilling new directions at him; perhaps they had beencalling to him several times. 

"You blamed idiot, are you goin' to stand there all day? We didn'tgive you that stump to rest on. Pull it up!"

He started with a sense of guilt and tugged up. His fingers slippedoff their separate grips, and the stump, though it groaned against thetaproot under the strain, did not come out. 

"It don't seem to budge, somehow, " said Bull in his big, soft, plaintive voice. Then he waited for the laughter. There was alwayslaughter, no matter what he did or said, but he never grew callousedagainst it. It was the one pain which ever pierced the mist of hisbrain and cut him to the quick. And he was right. There was laughteragain. He stood suffering mutely under it. 

The girl's face became grave. She murmured to Harry, "Ever trypraisin' to big stupid?"

"Him? Are you joshin' me, Jessie? What's he ever done to be praisedabout?"

"You watch!" said the girl. Growing excited with her idea, she called, "Say, Bull!"

He lifted his head, but not his eyes. Those eyes studied the impatientfeet of the girl's mustang; he waited for another stroke of wit thatwould bring forth a fresh shower of laughter at his expense. 

"Bull, you're mighty big and strong. About the biggest and strongestman I ever seen!"

Was this a new and subtle form of mockery? He waited dully. 

"I seen Harry and Joe both try to pull up that root, and they couldn'tso much as budge it. But I bet you could do it all alone, Bull! Youjust try! I bet you could!"

It amazed him. He lifted his eyes at length; his face suffused with aflush; his big, cloudy eyes were glistening with moisture. 

"D'you mean that?" he asked huskily. 

For this terrible, clear-eyed creature, this mocking mind, this alert, cruel wit was actually speaking words of confidence. A great, dim joywelled up in the heart of Bull Hunter. He shook the forelock outof his eyes. 

"You just try, will you, Bull?"

"I'll try!"

He bowed. Again his thick fingers sought for a grip, found places, worked down through the soft dirt and the pulpy bark to solid wood, and then he began to lift. It was a gradual process. His knees gave, sagging under the strain from the arms. Then the back began to growrigid, and the legs in turn grew stiff, as every muscle fell intoplay. The shoulders pushed forward and down. The forearms, revealed bythe short sleeves, showed a bewildering tangle of corded muscle, and, at the wrists, the tendons sprang out as distinct and white as the newstrings of a violin. 

The three spectators were undergoing a change. The suppressed grins ofthe two brothers faded. They glanced at the girl to see if she werenot laughing at the results of her words to big Bull, but the girl wasstaring. She had set that mighty power to work, and she was amazed bythe thing she saw. And they, looking back at Bull, were amazed inturn. They had seen him lift great logs, wrench boulders from theearth. But always it had been a proverb within the Campbell familythat Bull would make only one attempt and, failing in the firsteffort, would try no more. They had never seen the mysteriousresources of his strength called upon. 

Now they watched first the settling and then the expansion of the bodyof their big cousin. His shoulders began to tremble; they heard deep, harsh panting like the breathing of a horse as it tugs a ponderousload up a hill, and still he had not reached the limit of his power. He seemed to grow into the soil, and his feet ground deeper into thesoft dirt, and ever there was something in him remaining to be tapped. It seemed to the brothers to be merely vast, unexplored recesses ofmuscle, but even then it was a prodigious thing to watch the strain onthe stump increase moment by moment. That something of the spirit wasbeing called upon to aid in the work was quite beyond theircomprehension. 

There was something like a groan from Bull--a queer, animal sound thatmade all three spectators shiver where they stood. For it showed thatthe limit of that apparently inexhaustible strength had been reachedand that now the anguish of last effort was going into the work. Theysaw the head bowed lower; the shoulders were now bunching and swellingup on either side. 

Then came a faint rending sound, like cloth slowly torn. It wasanswered by something strangely like a snarl from the laborer. Something jerked through his body as though a whip had been flickedacross his back. With a great rending and a loud snap the big stumpcame up. A little shower of dirt spouted up with the parting of thetaproot. The trunk was flung high, but not out of the hands of BullHunter. He whirled it around his head, laughing. There was a ring andclearness in that laughter that they had never heard before. He dashedthe stump on the ground. 

"It's out!" exclaimed Bull. "Look there!"

He strode upon them. As he straightened up he became huger than ever. They shrank from him--from the veins which still bulged on hisforehead and from the sweat and pallor of that vast effort. The verymustang winced from this mountain of a man who came with a long, sweeping, springing stride. On his face was a strange joy as of theexplorer who tops the mountains and sees the beauty of the promisedland beneath him. He held out his hand. 

"Lady, I got to thank you. You--taught me how!"

But she shrank from his outstretched hand--as though she had laboredto a larger end than she dreamed and was terrified by the thingshe had made. 

"You--you got a red stain on your hands. Oh!"

He came to a stop sharply. The sharp edges, where the roots had beencut away had worked through the skin and his hands were literallycaked with mud and stained red. Bull looked down at his hands vaguely. 

It came to Harry that Bull was taking up a trifle too much of Jessie'sattention. The next thing they knew she would be inviting him to cometo the next dance down her way, and they would have the big hulk of aman shaming himself and his uncle's family. 

"Go on back to the house, " he ordered sharply. "We don't have no moreneed of you. "

Bull obeyed, stumbling along and still looking down at his woundedhands. 

CHAPTER 2

He left the three behind him, bewildered and frightened. Had lightningsplit a thick tree beside them, or an unexpected landslide thunderedpast and swept the ground away at their feet, they could have beenhardly more disturbed. 

"Who'd of thought he could act like that!" remarked Joe. "My gosh, Jessie!"

They went and looked at the hole where the stump had stood. At thebottom was the white remnant of the taproot where it had burst underthe strain. 

"It wasn't so much how he pulled up the stump, " said the girl faintly. "But--but did you see his face, boys, after he heaved the stump up?I--just pick that stump up, will you?"

They went to the misshapen, ragged monster and lifted it, puffingunder the weight. 

"All right. "

They dropped it obediently. 

"And he--he just swung it around his head like it was nothing!"declared the girl. "Look how it smashed into the gravel where he threwit down! Why--why--I didn't know men was made like that. And hisface--the way he laughed--why he didn't look like no fool at all, boys. But just as if he'd waked up!"

"You act so interested, " said Harry Campbell dryly, "that maybe you'dlike to have us call him out again so's you can talk to him?"

Apparently she did not hear, but stared down into the mist of the lateafternoon, warning her that she must start home. She seemed puzzledand a little frightened. When she left them it was with a wave of thehand and with no words of farewell. They watched her go down the trailthat jerked back and forth across the pitch of the slope; twice herpony stumbled, a sure sign that the rider was absent-minded. 

"Jessie didn't seem to know what to make of it, " said Harry. 

"Neither do I, " returned his brother. 

Both of them spoke in subdued voices as if they were afraid of beingoverheard. 

"And think if he'd ever lay a hold on one of us like that!" saidHarry. He went to the stump and examined the side of one of the roots. It was stained with crimson. 

"Look where his finger tips worked through the dirt and the bark, right down to the solid wood, " murmured Joe. 

They looked at each other uneasily. "My gosh, " said Joe, "think of theway I handled him the other night! He--he let me trip him up and throwhim!" He shuddered. "Why, if he'd laid hold of me just once, he'd ofsquashed my muscles like they was rotten fruit!"

Of one accord they turned back to the house. At the door they pausedand peered in, as into the den of a bear. There sat Bull on thefloor--he risked his weight to none of the crazy chairs--still lookingat his stained hands. Then they drew back and again looked at eachother with scared eyes and spoke in undertones. 

"After this maybe he won't want to follow orders. Maybe he'll get sortof free and easy and independent. "

"If he does, you watch Dad give him his marching orders. Dad won'thave no one lifting heads agin' him. "

"Neither will I, " snapped Joe. "I guess we own this house. I guess wesupport that big hulk. I'm going to try him right quick. "

He went back to the door of the shack. "Bull, they ain't any wood forthe stove tonight. Go chop some quick. "

The floor squeaked and groaned under Bull's weight as he rose, andagain the brothers looked to each other. 

"All right, " came cheerily from Bull Hunter. 

He came through the door with his ax and went to the log pile. Thebrothers watched him throw aside the top logs and get at the heaviertrunks underneath. He tore one of these out, laid it in place, and thesun flashed on the swift circle of the ax. Joe and Harry stepped backas though the light had blinded them. 

"He didn't never work like that before, " declared Joe. 

The ax was buried almost to the haft in the tough wood, and the steelwas wrenching out with a squeak of the metal against the resistingwood. Again the blinding circle and the indescribable sound of theax's impact, slicing through the wood. A great chip snapped up highover the shoulder of the chopper and dropped solidly to the ground atthe feet of the brothers. Again they exchanged glances and drew alittle closer together. The log divided under the shower of eatingblows, and Bull attacked the next section. 

Presently he came to a pause, leaning on the handle of the ax andstaring into the distance. At this the brothers sighed with relief. 

"I guess he ain't changed so much, " said Harry. "But it was queer, eh?Kind of like a bear waking up after he'd been sleeping all winter!"

They jarred Bull out of his dream with a shout and set him to workagain; then they started the preparations for the evening meal. Thesimple preparations were soon completed, but after the potatoes wereboiled, they delayed frying the bacon, for their father, old BillCampbell, had not yet returned from his hunting trip and he dislikedlong-cooked food. Things had to be freshly served to suit Bill, andhis sons dared the wrath of heaven rather than the biting reproachesof the old man. 

It was strange that Bill delayed his coming so long. As a rule he wasalways back before the coming of evening. An old and practicedmountaineer, he had never been known to lose sense of direction orsense of distance, and he was an hour overdue when the sun went downand the soft, beautiful mountain twilight began. 

There were other reasons which would ordinarily have disturbed Billand brought him home even ahead of time. Snow had fallen heavily abovethe timberline a few days before, and now the keen whistling of thewind and the swift curtaining of clouds, which was drawing across thesky, threatened a new storm that might even reach down to the shack. 

And yet no Bill appeared. 

The brothers waited in the shack, and the darkness was increasing. Anyone of a number of things might have happened to their father, butthey were not worried. For one thing, they wasted no love on the sternold man. They knew well enough that he had plenty of money, but hekept them here to a dog's life in the shack, and they hated him forit. Besides, they had a keen grievance which obscured any worry aboutBill--they were hungry, wildly hungry. The darkness set in, and thefeeble light wandered from the smoked chimney of the lantern and madethe window black. 

Outside, the wind began to scream, sighing in the distance among thefirs, and then pouncing upon the cabin and shaking it as though inrage. The fire would smoke in the stove at every one of these blasts, and the flame leaped in the lantern. 

Bull Hunter had to lean closer to the light and frown to make out theprint of his book. The sight of his stolid immobility merely sharpenedtheir hunger, for there was never any passion in this hulk of a man. When he relaxed over a book the world went out like a snuffed candlefor him. He read slowly, lingering over every page, for now and againhis eyes drifted away from the print, and he dreamed over what he hadread. In reality he was not reading for the plot, but for the pictureshe found, and he dreaded coming to the end of a book also, for bookswere rare in his life. A scrap of a magazine was a treasure. A fullvolume was a nameless delight. 

And so he worked slowly through every paragraph and made it his anddreamed over it until he knew every thought and every picture byheart. Once slowly devoured in this way, it was useless to reread abook. It was far better to simply sit and let the slow memory of ittrail through his mind link by link, just as he had first read it andwith all the embroiderings which his own fancy had conjured up. 

Often this stupid pondering over a book would madden the two brothers. It irritated them till they would move the lantern away from him. Buthe always followed the light with a sigh and uncomplainingly settleddown again. Sometimes they even snatched the book out of his hands. Inthat case he sat looking down at his empty fingers, dreaming over hisown thoughts as contentedly as though the living page were in hisvision. There was small satisfaction in tormenting him in these ways. 

Tonight they dared not bother him. The stained hands were still intheir minds, and the tremendous, joyous laughter as he whirled thestump over his head still rang in their ears. But they watched himwith a sullen envy of his immobility. Just as a man without anovercoat envies the woolly coat of a dog on a windy December day. 

Only one sound roused the reader. It was a sudden loud snorting fromthe shed behind the house and a dull trampling that came to himthrough the noise of the rising wind. It brought Bull lurching to hisfeet, and the stove jingled as his weight struck the yielding centerboards of the floor. Out into the blackness he strode. The wind shutaround him at once and plastered his clothes against his body as if hehad been drenched to the skin in water. Then he closed the door. 

"What brung him to life?" asked Harry. 

"Nothin', He just heard ol' Maggie snort. Always bothers him whenMaggie gets scared of something--the old fool!"

Maggie was an ancient, broken-down draft horse. Strange vicissitudeshad brought her up into the mountains via the logging camp. She waskept, not because there was any real hauling to be done for BillCampbell, but because, having got her for nothing, she reminded him ofthe bargain she had been. And Bull, apparently understanding thesluggish nature of the old mare by sympathy of kind, use to work herto the single plow among the rocks of their clearing. Here, everyautumn, they planted seed that never grew to mature grain. But thatwas Bill Campbell's idea of making a home. 

Presently Bull came back and settled with a slump into his old place. 

"Going to snow?" asked Harry. 

"Yep. "

"Feel it in the wind?"

It was an old joke among them, for Bull often declared with ridiculoussolemnity that he could foretell snow by the change in the air. 

"Yep, " answered Bull, "I felt the wind. "

He looked up at them, abashed, but they were too hungry to wastebreath with laughter. They merely sneered at him as he settled backinto his book. And, just as his head bowed, a far shouting swept downat them as the wind veered to a new point. 

"Uncle Bill!" said Bull and rose again to open the door. 

The others wedged in behind his bulk and stared into the blackness. 

CHAPTER 3

They stood with the wind taking them with its teeth and pressing themheavily back. They could hear the fire flare and flutter in the stove;then the wind screamed again, and the wail came down to them. 

"Uncle Bill!" repeated Bull and, lowering his head, strode into thestorm. 

The others exchanged frightened glances and then followed, but notoutside of the shaft of light from the door. In the first place it wasprobably not their father. Who could imagine Bill shouting for help?Such a thing had never been dreamed of by his worst enemies, and theyknew that their father's were legion. Besides it was cold, and thiswas a wild-goose chase which meant a chilled hide and no gain. 

But, presently, through the darkness they made out the form of ahorseman and the great bulk of Bull coming back beside him. Then theyran out into the night. 

They recognized the hatless, squat figure of their father at once, even in the dark, with the wind twitching his beard sideways. Whenthey called to him he did not speak. Then they saw that Bull wasleading the horse. 

Plainly something was wrong, and presently they discovered that BillCampbell was actually tied upon his horse. He gave no orders, and theycut the ropes in silence. Still he did not dismount. 

"Bull, " he commanded, "lift me off the hoss!"

The giant plucked him out of the saddle and placed him on the ground, but his legs buckled under him, and he fell forward on his face. Anyof the three could have saved him, but the spectacle of the terribleold man's helplessness benumbed their senses and their muscles. 

"Carry me in!" said Bill at last. 

Bull lifted him and bore him gingerly through the door and placed himon the bunk. The light revealed a grisly spectacle. Crimson stains anddirt literally covered him; his left leg was bandaged below the knee;his right shoulder was roughly splinted with small twigs andswathed in cloth. 

The long ride, with his legs tied in place, had apparently paralyzedhis nerves below the hips. He remained crushed against the wall, hislegs falling in the odd position in which they were put down by Bull. It was illustrative of his character that, even in this crisis, notone of the three dared venture an expression of sympathy, a question, a suggestion. 

Crumpled against the wall, his head bowed forward and cramped, thestern old man still controlled them with the upward glance of his eyesthrough the shag of eyebrows. 

"Gimme my pipe, " he commanded. 

Three hands reached for it--pipe, tobacco, matches were proffered tohim. Before he accepted the articles he swept their faces with aglance of satisfaction. Without attempting to change the positionwhich must have been torturing him, he filled the pipe bowl, hisfingers moving as if he had partially lost control of them. He filledit raggedly, shreds of tobacco hanging down around the bowl. He benthis head to meet the left hand which he raised with difficulty, thenhe tried to light a match. But he seemed incapable of moving thesulphur head fast enough to bring it to a light with friction. Matchafter match crumbled as he continued his efforts. 

"Here, lemme light a match for you, Dad!"

Harry's offer was received with a silent curling of the lips and aglint of the yellow teeth beneath that made him step back. The old mancontinued his work. There were a dozen wrecked matches before theblood began to stir in his numbed arm and he was able to light thematch and the pipe. He drew several breaths of the smoke deep into hislungs. For the moment the savage, hungry satisfaction changed hisface; they could tell by that alteration what agonies he had beensuffering before. 

Presently he frowned and set about changing his position with infinitelabor. The left leg was helpless, and so was the right arm. Yet, aftermuch labor, he managed to stuff a roll of the blankets into the cornerand then shift himself until his back rested against this support. Buthis strength deserted him again. His pipe was dropped down in the lefthand, his head sagged back. 

Still they dared not approach him. His two sons stood about, shiftingfrom one foot to another, as if they expected a blow to descend uponthem at any moment, as if each labored movement of terrible old BillCampbell caused them the agony which he must be suffering. 

As for Bull Hunter, he sat again on the floor, his chin dropped uponhis great fist, and wondered for a time at his uncle. It was thesecond great event to him, all in one day. First he had discoveredthat by fighting a thing, one can actually conquer. Second, hediscovered that great fighter, his uncle, had been beaten. Theimpossible had happened twice between one sunrise and sunset. 

But men and the affairs of men could not hold his eye overlong. Presently he dropped his head again and was deep in the pages of hisbook. At length Bill Campbell heaved up his head. It was to glare intothe scared faces of his sons. 

"How long are you goin' to keep me waiting for food?"

The order snapped them into action. They sprang here and there, andpresently the thick slices of bacon were hissing on the pan, and theclouds of bacon smoke wafted through the cabin. When they reached BillCampbell he blinked. Pain had given him a maddening appetite, yet hepuffed steadily on his pipe and said nothing. 

The tin plate of potatoes and bacon was shoved before him, and the bigtin cup of coffee. The three younger men sat in silence and devouredtheir own meal; the two sons swiftly, but Bull Hunter fell intomusings, and part of his food remained uneaten. Then his glancewandered to his uncle and saw a thing to wonder at--a horrible thingin its own way. 

The nerveless left hand of the mountaineer, which had barely possessedsteadiness to light a match, was far too inaccurate to handle a fork;and Bull saw his uncle stuffing his mouth with his fingers and daringthe others to watch him. 

Something like pity came to Bull. It was so rare an emotion to connectwith human beings that he hardly recognized it, for men and women, ashe knew them, were brilliant, clever creatures, perfectly at home inthe midst of difficulties that appalled him. But, as he watched theold man feed himself like an animal, the emotion that rose in Bull wasthe sadness he felt when he watched old Maggie stumbling among therocks. There was something wrong with the forelegs of Maggie, and shewas only half a horse when it came to going downhill on broken ground. He had always thought of the great strength that once must have beenhers, and he pitied her for the change. He found himself pitying UncleBill Campbell in much the same way. 

When Bill raised his tin cup he spilled scalding coffee on his breast. The old man merely set his teeth and continued to glare his challengeat the three. But not one of the three dared speak a word, dared makean offer of assistance. 

What baffled the slow mind of Bull Hunter was the effort to imagine aforce so great that battle with it had reduced the invincible Campbellto this shaken wreck of his old self. Mere bullets could tear woundsin flesh and break bones; but mere bullets could not wreck the nervesof a man so that his hand trembled as if he were drunk or hystericalwith weariness. 

He tried to work out this problem. He conceived a man of giganticsize, vast muscles, inexhaustible strength. The power of a bear andthe swift cunning of a wild cat--such must have been the man whostruck down Uncle Bill and sent him home a shattered remnant ofhis old self. 

There was another mystery. Why did the destroyer not finish his task?Why did he take pity on Uncle Bill Campbell and bind up the wounds hehad himself made? Here the mind of Bull Hunter paused. He could notpass the mysterious idea of another than himself pitying Uncle Bill. It was pitying a hawk in the sky. 

Harry was taking away the dishes and throwing them in the little tubof lukewarm water where the grease would be carelessly sousedoff them. 

"Did you get up that stump?" asked Uncle Bill suddenly. 

There was a familiar ring in his voice. Woe to them if they had notcarried out his orders! All three of the young men quaked, and Bulllaid aside his book. 

"We done it, " answered Joe in a quavering voice. 

"You done it?" asked Bill. 

"We--we dug her pretty well clear, then Bull pulled her up. "

Some of the wrath ebbed out of the face of Bill as he glanced at thehuge form of Bull. "Stand up!" he ordered. 

Bull arose. 

The keen eye of the old man went over him from head to foot slowly. "Someday, " he said slowly, speaking entirely to himself. "Someday--maybe!"

What he expected from Bull "someday" remained unknown. The dishwashingwas swiftly finished. Then Uncle Bill made a feeble effort to get offhis boots, but his strength had been ebbing for some time. His sonsdared not interfere as the old man leaned slowly over and strove totug the boot from his wounded leg; but Bull remembered, all in a floodof tenderness, some half-dozen small, kind things that his uncle hadsaid to him. 

That was long, long ago, when the orphan came into the Campbellfamily. In those days his stupidity had been attributed largely to thespeed with which he had grown, and he was expected to become normallybright later on; and in those days Bill Campbell occasionally let fallsome gentle word to the great boy with his big, frightened eyes. Andthe half-dozen instances came back to Bull in this moment. 

He stepped between his cousins and laid his hand on the foot of hisuncle. It brought a snarl from the old man, a snarl that made Bullstraighten and step back, but he came again and put aside the shakinghand of Uncle Bill. His cousins stood at one side, literally quaking. It was the first time that they had actually seen their father defied. They saw the huge hand of Bull settle around the leg of their father, well below the wound and then the grip closed to avoid the danger ofopening the wound when the boot was worked off. After this he pulledthe tight riding boot slowly from the swollen foot. 

Uncle Bill was no longer silent. The moment the big hand of his nephewclosed over his leg he launched a stream of curses that chilled theblood and drove his own sons farther back into the shadow of thecorner. He demanded that they stand forth and tear Bull limb fromlimb. He disinherited them for cowardice. He threatened Bull with avengeance compared with which the thunderbolt would be a feeble flareof light. He swore that he was entirely capable of taking care ofhimself, that he would step down into his grave sooner than be nursedand petted by any living human being. 

All the while, the great Bull leaned impassively over the wounded manand finally worked the boot free. That was not all. Uncle Bill hadslipped over until he could reach a billet of wood beside his bunk. Hestruck at Bull's head with it, but the stick was brushed out of hispalsied fingers with a single gesture, and, while Uncle Bill groanedwith fury and impotence, Bull continued the task of preparing him forbed. He straightened the old body of the terrible Campbell; he heatedwater in the tub and washed away stains and dirt; he took off thestained bandages and replaced them with clean ones. 

His cousins helped in the latter part of this work. Weakness hadreduced Uncle Bill to speechlessness. Finally the head of BillCampbell was laid on a double fold of blanket in lieu of a pillow. Apipe had been tamped full and lighted by Bull and--crowninginsult--set between Bill's teeth. When all this was accomplished Bullretired to his corner, picked up his book, and was instantly absorbed. 

In the hushed atmosphere it seemed that a terrible blow had fallen, and that another was about to fall. Harry and Joe were as men stunned, but they looked upon their father with a gathering complacency. Theyhad found it demonstrated that it was possible to disobey their fatherwithout being instantly destroyed. They were taking the lesson toheart. And indeed old Bill Campbell himself seemed to be slowlyadmitting that he was beaten. 

The illusion of absolute self-sufficiency, which he had built upthrough the years for the sake of imposing upon his sons and BullHunter, was now destroyed. At a single stroke he had been exposed asan old man, already beaten in battle by a foeman and now requiring asmuch care as a sick woman. The shame of it burned in him; but thecomfort of the smoothed bunk and the filled pipe between his teeth wasa blessing. He found to his own surprise that he was not hating Bullwith a tithe of his usual vigor. He began to realize that he had cometo the end of his period of command. When he left that sickbed hecould only advise. 

As a king about to die he looked at his heirs and found them strongand sufficient and pleasing to the eye. Nowhere in the mountains werethere two boys as tall, as straight, as deadly with rifle andrevolver, as fierce, as relentless, as these two boys of his. He hadsharpened their tempers, and he rejoiced in the sullen ferocity withwhich they looked at him now, unloving, cunning, biding their time andfinding that it had almost come. But he was not yet done. His body waswrecked; there remained his mind, and they would find it a greatpower. But he did not talk until the lights had been put out and thethree youths were in their separate bunks. Then, without the light toshow them his helpless body, in the darkness, which would give hismind a freer play, he began to tell his story. 

It was a long narrative. Far back in the years he had prospected witha youth named Pete Reeve. They had located a claim and they had goneto town together to celebrate. In the celebration he had drunk withReeve till the boy stupefied. Then he had induced Reeve to gamble forhis share of the claim and had won it. Afterward Pete swore to be evenwith him. But the years had gone by without another meeting ofthe men. 

Only today, riding through the mountains, he had come on a dried-upwisp of a man with long, iron-gray hair, a sharp, withered face, andhands like the claws of a bird. He rode a fine bay gelding, and hadstopped Bill to ask some questions about the region above thetimberline because he was drifting south and intended to cross thesummits. Bill had described the way, and suddenly, out of their talk, came the revelation of their identities--the one was Bill Campbell, the other was Pete Reeve. 

At this point in the story Bull heaved himself slowly, softly up onone arm to listen. He was beginning to get the full sense of the wordsfor the first time. This narrative was like a book done in acommoner language. 

CHAPTER 4

The tale halted. To be defeated is one thing; to be forced to confessdefeat is another. Uncle Bill determined on the bitterer alternative. 

"He made a clean fight, " declared Uncle Bill. "First he cussed me outproper. Then he went for his gat and he beat me to the draw. Theyain't no disgrace to that. You'll learn pretty soon that anybody mightget beaten sooner or later--if he fights enough men. And my gun hungin the leather. Before I got it on him he'd shot me clean through theright shoulder--a placed shot, boys. He wanted to land me there. Ittumbled me off my hoss. I rolled away and tried to get to my gun thathad fallen on the ground. He shot me ag'in through the leg andstopped me. 

"Then he got off his hoss and fixed up the wounds. He done a good job, as you seen. 'Bill' says he, 'you ain't dead; you're worse'n dead. That right arm of yours is going to be stiff the rest of your days. You're a one-armed man from now on, and that one arm is the worstyou got. '

"That was why he sent me home alive. To make me live and keep hatinghim, the same's he'd lived and hated me. But he made a mistake. PeteReeve is a wise fox, but he made one mistake. He forgot that I mighthave somebody to send on his trail. He didn't know that I had two boysI'd raised so's they was each better with a gun nor me. He didn'tdream of that, curse him! But when you, Harry, or you, Joe, pump thelead into him, shoot him so's he'll live long enough to know whokilled him and why!"

As he spoke, there was a quality in his voice that seemed to find theboys in the darkness and point each of them out. "Which of you takesthe trail?"

A little silence followed. Bull wondered at it. 

"He's gone by way of Johnstown, " continued the wounded man. "If one ofyou cuts across the summit toward Shantung he's pretty sure to cut inacross Pete's trail. Which is goin' to start? Well, you can match forthe chance! Because him that comes back with Pete Reeve marked off theslate is a man!"

That chilly little silence made Bull's heart beat. To be called a man, to be praised by stern Bill Campbell--surely these were things to makeanyone risk death!

"Is that the Pete Reeve, " said Harry's voice, "that shot up MikeRivers over the hill to the Tompkins place, about four year back?"

"That's him. Why?"

Again the silence. Then Bull heard the old man cursingsoftly--meditatively, one might almost have said. 

"Cut across for Johnstown, " said Joe softly, "in a storm like this?They won't be no trails left to find above the timberline. It'd besure death. Listen!"

There was a lull in the wind, and in the breeze that was left, theycould hear the whisper of the snow crushing steadily againstthe window. 

"It's heavy fall, right enough, " declared Harry. 

"And this Pete Reeve--why, he's a gunfighter, Dad. "

"And what are you?" asked the old man. "Ain't I labored and slaved allmy life to make you handy with guns? What for d'you think I wasted allthem hours showin' you how to pull a trigger and where to shoot andhow to get a gun out of the leather?"

"To kill for meat, " suggested Harry. 

"Meat, nothing! The kind of meat I mean walks on two feet and fightsback. "

"Maybe, if we started together--" ventured Joe. 

His father broke in, "Boy, I ain't going to send out a pack of men torun down Pete Reeve. He met me single and he fought me clean, and he'sgoing to be pulled down by no pack of yaller dogs! Go one of you aloneor else both of you stay here. "

He waited, but there was no response. "Is this the way my blood isshowin' up in my sons? Is this the result of all my trainin'?"

After that there was no more talk. The long silence was not broken byeven the sound of breathing until someone began to snore. Then Bullknew that the sleep of the night had settled down. 

He lay with his hands folded behind his head, thinking. They werewilling enough to go together to do this difficult thing. But had theynot lifted together at the stump and failed to do the thing which hehad done single-handed? That thought stuck in his memory and would notout. And suppose he, Bull, were to accomplish this great feat andreturn to the shack? Would not Bill Campbell feel doubly repaid forthe living he had furnished for his nephew? More than once the grimold man had cursed the luck that saddled him with a stupid incubus. But the curses would turn to compliments if Bull left this little man, this catlike and dangerous fighter, this Pete Reeve, dead onthe trail. 

Not that all this was clear in the mind of Bull, but he felt somethinglike a command pushing him on that difficult south trail, through thestorm and the snow that would now be piling above the timberline. Hewaited until there was no noise but the snoring of the sleepers andthe rush and roar of the wind which continually set something stirringin the room. These sounds served to cover effectually any noises hemade as he felt about and made up his small pack. His old canvas coat, his most treasured article of apparel, he took down from the hookwhere it accumulated dust from month to month. His ancient, secondhandcartridge belt with the antiquated revolver he removed from anotherhook--he had never been given enough ammunition to become a shot ofany quality--and he pushed quickly into the night. 

The moment he was through the door, the storm caught him in the face astinging blow, and the rush of snow chilled his skin. That stingingblow steadied to a blast. It was a tremendous, heavy fall. The windhad scoured the drifts from the clearing and was already banking themaround the little house. In the morning, as like as not, the boyswould have to dig their way out. 

He went straight to the horse shed for his snowshoes that hung on thewall there. Ordinary snowshoes would not endure his ponderous weight, and Uncle Bill Campbell had fashioned these himself, heavy anduncomfortable articles, but capable of enduring the strain. 

Fumbling his way down behind the stalls, Bill's roan lashed out at himwith savage heels; but Maggie, the old draft horse, whinnied softly, greeting that familiar heavy step. He tied the snowshoes on his backand then stopped for a last word to Maggie. She raised her head anddropped it clumsily on his shoulder. She was among the little, agilemountain ponies what he was among men, and their bulk had renderedeach of them more or less helpless. There seemed to be a muteunderstanding between them, and it was never more apparent than whenMaggie whinnied gently in his ear. He stroked her big, bony head, alump forming in his throat. If the bullets of little Pete Reevedropped him in some far-off trail, the old-broken-down horse would bethe only living creature that would mourn for him. 

Outside, the night and the storm swallowed him at once. Before he hadgone fifty feet the house was out of sight. Then, entering the forestof balsam firs, the force of the wind was lessened, and he made goodtime up the first part of the grade. There would probably be no usefor the snowshoes in this region of broken shrubbery before he came tothe timberline. 

He swept on with a lengthening stride. He knew this part of thecountry like a book, of course, and he seldom stumbled, save when hecame out into a clearing and the wind smote at him from an unexpectedangle. In one of these clearings he stopped and took stock of hisposition. Far away to the west and the south, the head of ScalpedMountain was lost in dim, rushing clouds. He must make for that goal. 

Progress became less easy almost at once. The trees that grew in thiselevated region were not tall enough to act as wind breaks; they werehardly more than shrubs a great deal of the time, and merely served toforce him into detours around dense hedges. Sometimes, in a clearing, he found himself staggering to the knees in a compacted drift of snow;sometimes an immense sheet of snow was picked up by the wind and flungin his face like a blanket. 

Indeed the cold and the snow were nothing compared with the wind. Itwas now reaching the proportions of a westerly storm of the firstmagnitude. Off the towering slopes above, it came with the chill ofthe snow and with flying bits of sand, scooped up from around the baseof trees, or with a shower of twigs. Many a time he had to throw uphis arms across his face before he leaned and thrust on into the teethof the blast. 

But he was growing accustomed to seeing through this veil of snow andthick darkness. All things were dreamlike in dimness, of course, buthe could make out terrific cloud effects, as the clouds gushed overthe summit and down the slope a little way like the smoke of enormousguns; and again a pyramid of mist was like a false mountain beforehim, a mountain that took on movement and rushed to overwhelm him, only to melt away and become simply a shadow among shadows abovehis head. 

Once or twice before the dawn, he rested, not from weariness perhaps, but from lack of breath, turning his back to the west and bowing hishead. Walking into the wind it had become positively difficult todraw breath!

Still it gained power incredibly. Up the side of Scalped Mountain itwas a steady weight pressing against him rather than a wind. And nowand then, when the weight relaxed, he stumbled forward on his knees. For there was now hardly any shelter. He was approaching thetimberline where trees stand as high as a man and little higher. 

Dawn found him at the edge of the tree line. He flung himself on hisface, his head on his arms, to rest and wait until the treacheroustime of dawn should have passed. While the day grew steadily his heartsank. He needed the rest, but the cold bit into him while he layextended, and the peril of the summit would be before him for hismarch of the day. The wind mourned over him as if it anticipated hisdefeat. Never had there been such wind, he thought. It screamed abovehim. It dropped away in sudden lulls of more appalling silence. Then, far off, he would hear a wave of the storm begin, wash across a crest, thunder in a canyon, and then break on the timberline with a prolongedand mighty roaring. Those giant approaches made him hold his breath, and when the wave of confusion passed, he found himself oftenbreathless. 

Day came. He was on the very verge of the line with a dense fence ofstunted trees just before him and the wilderness of snow beyond, sloping up to the crest, outlined in white against the solid gray sky. The Spartans of the forest were around him--fir, pine, spruce, birch, and trembling little aspens up there among the stoutest. All were ofone height, clean-shaven by the volleys of the wind-driven sand andpebbles that clipped off any treetop that aspired above the mass. Insolid numbers was their salvation, and they grew dense as grass, twofeet high on the battlefront. They were carved by that wind, for allstorms came here out of the west, and the storm face of every tree wasdenuded of branches. To the east the foliage streamed away. Even incalm weather those trees spoke of storm. 

Bull Hunter sat up to put on his snowshoes. It was a white world belowhim and above. Winter, which a day before had vanished, now came backwith a rush off the summits, where its snows were still piled. Againthe heart of the big man quaked. Down in the hollow, over that ridge, was the house of the Campbells. They would be getting up now. Joewould be making the fire, and Harry slicing the bacon. It made acheerful picture to Bull. He could close his eyes and hear the firesnap and see the stove steam with smoke through every fissure beforethe draft caught in the chimney. From the shed came the neigh ofMaggie, calling softly to him. 

He shook his head with a groan, stood up, and strode out of the timberinto the summit lands. It was a great desert. Never could it beconstrued as a place for life. Even lichens were almost out of placehere, and what folly could lead a man across the shifting snows? Butto be called a man, to be admired in silence, to be asked foropinions, to be deferred to--this was a treasure worth any price! Hebowed himself to the wind again and made for the summit with thepeculiar stride which a man must use with snowshoes. 

He dared not slacken his efforts now. The cold had been increasing, and to pause meant peril of freezing. It was a highly electrified air, and the result was a series of maddening mirages. He stumbled oversolid rocks where nothing seemed to be in his way; and again whatseemed a rock of huge size was nothing at all. Bull discovered thatwhat seemed firm ground beneath him, as he started to round aprecipice, might after all be the effect of the mirage. 

Added to this was another difficulty. As he wound slowly, aboutmidday, up the last reach, with the summit just above him, the windcarried masses of cloud over the crest and into his face. He walkedalternately in a bewildering, driving fog and then in an air madecrazy with electricity. Again and again, from one side or the other, he started when the storm boomed and cannonaded down a ravine and thenbelched out into the open. All this time the babel of the windsoverhead never ceased, and the force of the storm cut up under himwith such violence that he was almost raised from the earth. 

Then an unexpected barrier obtruded--a literal mountain of ice wasbefore him. The snow of the recent fall had been whipped away, and thesurface of the mountain, here perilously steep, was now sleek andsolid with ice. Bull looked gloomily toward the summit so close abovehim, and the ice glimmered in the dull light. There was only one wayto make even the attempt. He sat down, took off his snowshoes, strapped them to his back, and began to work his way up the slope, battering out each foothold with the head of his ax. It was possibleto ascend in this manner, but it would be practically impossibleto descend. 

Once committed to this way, he had either to go on to the summit, orelse perish. Working slowly, with little possible muscular exercise towarm him, he began to grow chilled and the wind-driven cold numbed hisears. But, more than that, the wind was now a grim peril, for, fromtime to time, it swerved and leaped on him heavily from the side. Once, off balance, he looked back at the dazzling slope below him. Hewould be a shapeless mass of flesh long before he tumbled tothe bottom. 

Vaguely, as he hewed his footholds and worked his way up, he yearnedfor the cleverness of Harry or the wit of Joe. What an ally either ofthem would be! That he was undertaking a task from which either ofthem would have shrunk in horror never occurred to him. Yonder, beyondthe summit, lay his destiny--Johnstown--and this was the way towardit; it was a simple thing to Bull. He could no more vary from hiscourse than a magnetic needle can vary from its pole. 

Suddenly he came on a break in the solid face of the ice. Above himwas a narrow rift through the ice to the gravel beneath; how it wasmade, Bull could not guess. But he took advantage of it. Presently hewas striding on toward the summit, beating his hands to restore thecirculation and gingerly rubbing his ears. 

There was a magical change as he reached the summit and sat downbehind some rocks to regain his breath and quiet his shaken nerves. The clouds split apart in the zenith; the sun burst through; on bothsides the broad mountain billowed away to white lowlands; the air wasalive with little, brilliant spots of electricity. 

It cheered Bull Hunter vastly. The gale, which was tumbling the cloudsdown the arch of the sky and toward the east, was more mighty thanever, but he put his head down to it confidently and beganthe descent. 

CHAPTER 5

There was more snow on this side, and to travel through it he soonfound that he must put on the snowshoes again; but after that thedescent was actually restful compared with the labors of the climb. Yonder was the dark streak of the timberline again. Far down thevalley he watched it curving in and out along the mountainside like awater level. Below was the darkness of the forest where other thingslived, and where Bull could live more easily, also. Never had treesseemed such beautiful and friendly things to him. 

Once a thought stopped him completely. He was in a new world. He wasseeing everything for the first time. On other days he had gone outwith others. Under their guidance, not trusted to undertake anexpedition by himself, he looked at nothing until it was pointed outto him, heard nothing that was not first called to his attention. Hehad always wondered at the acuteness of the senses of all other men. But now, looking on the mountains for himself, he decided, with astart of the heart, that they were beautiful--beautiful and terribleat once, with the reality that he had never found in his books. Whatleveled spear of a knight, in the pages of romance, could equal theinvisible thrust of this wind?

He reached the timberline. Looking back, he saw the summit, abrilliant line of white against a blue sky. Again the heart of BullHunter leaped. Here was a great treasure that he had taken in with onegrasp of the eyes and which he could never lose!

He turned down the valley. Where it swerved out into the lower plain, stood Johnstown, and there he was to cross the flight of Pete Reeve, if Pete were indeed flying. But it was incredible that the man who hadstruck down Uncle Bill Campbell should flee from any man or numberof men. 

He had reached the bottom of the narrow valley. A dull noise came downto him from the mountain in the lull of the wind. He looked up. 

Far away, miles and miles, near the summit of Scalped Mountain, asnaky form of mist was twisting swiftly down. He looked curiously. Thething grew, traveling with great speed that increased with everymoment. It increased--it gained velocity--a snowslide!

He watched it in doubt. It was twisting like a snake down the fartherside of the mountain, but, in his experience, slides were astreacherous as serpents. Bull started hastily for a low cliff thatstood up from the floor of the valley, clear of the trees. 

He had not gone far when the wind fell away to a whisper, and a dullroaring caught his ear. He looked back over his shoulder in alarm. Agreat wall of white was shooting down the mountainside. The littleslide of surface snow, which had twisted across the surface of the oldsnows of the winter, had been gaining in weight, in momentum, pickingup claws of shrubbery, teeth of stone, and eating through layer afterlayer of the old snow, packed hard as ice. Now it was a roaring masswith a front steadily increasing in height, and far away in the rearit tossed up a tail of snow dust, a flying mist that gave Bull animpression of speed greater than the main wall of the snow itself. 

The noise grew amazingly, and coming in range of the opposite wall ofthe valley, a low and steadily increasing thunder poured into the earsof Bull. It was a fascinating thing to watch, and at this distance tothe side he was quite safe. But at the very moment that he reachedthis decision, the front of the slide smashed with a noise likevolleyed canyon against the side of a hill, tossed immense arms ofwhite in the air, floundered, and then veered with the speed of anexpress train rounding a curve and rocked away down the slope straightfor Bull. Turned cold with dread, he saw it hit the timberline with agreat crashing, and the dark forms of the trees were dashed up by therunning mass of stones and then swallowed in the boiling front ofthe slide. 

He waited to see no more, but dashed on for the saving cliff. Once hisback was turned it seemed that the slide gained speed. The immenseroaring literally leaped on him from behind, and in the roar, hissenses were drowned. He could feel his knees weaken and buckle, butthe cliff, now just before him, gave him fresh strength. But was thecliff high enough? He hurried up to higher ground and flung himselfprostrate. The front of the slide was cutting down the heavilyforested slope as though the trees were blades of grass before a keenscythe. The noise passed all description. 

Once he thought the mass was changing direction. It put out a massivearm to the left, licked down five hundred trees at a gulp, and then, smashing its fist into a hillside, flung back into the valley floor, tossing the great trees in its top and poured straight at him. Hewatched it in one of those dazes during which one sees everything. Thewhole body came like water down a chute, but one part of the frontwall spilled out ahead and then another, and then the top, overtakingthe rest, toppled crashing to the bottom. And so it rushed out ofsight beneath the cliff. But would it wash over the top?

The first answer was an impact that shook the ground under him, andthen he heard a noise like a huge ripping explosion. A dozen loftygeysers of snow streamed up into the air, dazzling against the sun, misty at the edges of each column, whose center was solid tons andtons of snow. Old pines and spruces, their branches shaved away in thetumult of the slide, were picked up and hurled like javelins over thecliff; a shower of fragments beat on the body of Bull; and then themain mass of snow washed up over the edge of the cliff in a greatmound, and the slide was ended. 

He crawled slowly back to his feet. Far up the mountainside, beginningin a point, the track of the slide swept down in a broadening scar, black and raw, across forest and snow. Far down the valley the lastechoes of thunder were passing away to a murmur, and the valley floor, beneath the cliff, was a mass of snow and tree trunks. 

Bull took off the snowshoes and climbed along the valley wall until hecould descend to the clear floor beneath him. Then he headed downtoward Johnstown. 

It was well past midday when he escaped the slide; it was thebeginning of night when, at the conclusion of that first heroic march, he reached Johnstown. With hunger his stomach cleaved to his back, andhis knees were weak with the labor. 

Stamping through the snow to the hotel he asked the idlers around thestove, "Has any of you gents seen a man named Pete Reeve pass throughthis town?"

They looked at him in amazement. He had closed the door behind him, and now, with his battered hat pushed high on his head, he seemedtaller than the entrance--taller and as wide, a mountain of a man. Theefforts of the march had collected a continual frown on his forehead, and as he peered about from face to face, no one for a moment was ableto answer, but each looked to his companion. 

It was the proprietor who answered finally. Talk was his commercialmedium and staff of life. "What sort of a looking man, captain?"

Bull blinked at him. He was not used to honorary epithets such asthis, and he searched the face of the proprietor carefully to detectmockery. To his surprise the other showed signs of what Bull dimlyrecognized as fear. Fear of him--of Bull Hunter!

"The way you look at me, " said the other and laughed uneasily, "Ifigure it's pretty lucky that I ain't this here Pete Reeve. Thatso, boys?"

The boys joined in the laughter, but they kept it subdued, their eyesupon the giant at the door. He was leaning against the wall, and thesight of his outspread hand was far from reassuring. 

But Bull went on to describe his man. "Not very big; hands like theclaws of a bird's; iron-gray hair; quick ways. " That was Uncle Bill'sdescription. 

"Sure he's been here, " said the owner. "I recognized him right off. Hewas through about dusk. He came over the mountains and just got pastthe summit, he said, before the storm hit. Lucky, eh?" He looked atthe battered coat of Bull. "Kind of appears like you mightn't of beenso lucky?"

"Me?" asked Bull gently. "Nope. I was at the timberline on the otherside about daybreak today. "

There was a sudden and chilly silence; men looked at one another. Obviously no man could have traveled that distance between dawn anddark, but it was as well not to express disbelief to a man who couldtell a lie as big as his body. 

"I got to eat, " said Bull. 

The proprietor jumped out of his chair. "I can fix you up, son. "

He led the way, Bull following with his enormous strides, and, as thefloor creaked under him, the eyes of the others jerked after him, stride by stride. It was beginning to seem possible that this man haddone what he said he had done. When the door slammed behind him andhis steps went creaking through the room beyond, a mutter of a humarose around the stove. 

As a matter of fact it was the beginning of the great legend that wasfinally to bulk around the name of the big man. And it was fittingthat the huge figure of Bull Hunter should have come upon theattention of men in this way, descending out of the storm and themountains. 

That he had done something historic was far from the mind of Bull ashe stalked into the dining room. 

"You sit right down here, " his host was saying, placing a chair at thetable. 

Bull tried the chair with his hand. It groaned and squeaked under theweight. "Chairs don't seem to be made for me, " he said simply. "Besides I'm more used to sitting on the floor. " He dropped to thefloor accordingly, with the effect of a small earthquake. Theproprietor stared, but he swallowed his astonishment. "What you'd liketo eat is something hearty, I figure. "

"What you got?" said Bull. 

"Well, Mrs. Jarney come in this morning with a dozen fresh eggs. Gotsome prime bacon, too, and some jerky and--"

"That dozen eggs, " said Bull thoughtfully, "will start me, and then aplatter of bacon, and you might mix up a bowl of flapjacks. You ain'tgot a quart or so of canned milk, partner?"

The proprietor could only nod, for he dared not trust his voice. Fleeing to the kitchen he repeated the prodigious order to his wife. Then he circled by a back way and communicated the tidings to the"boys" around the stove. 

"A couple of dozen eggs, he says to me, and a few pounds of beef andthree or four quarts of milk and a bowl of flapjacks and a platter ofbacon, " was the way the second version of the historic order for foodcame to the idlers. 

Half a dozen of the men risked the cold and the wind to steal aroundto the side of the house and peer through the window at the huge, bunched figure that sat on the floor. They found him with his chindropped upon the burly fist and a frown on his forehead, for Bullwas thinking. 

He would have been glad to have found Pete Reeve in Johnstown and havethe matter over with. But, after all, it was beginning to occur to himthat it might not be wise to kill the man in the presence of otherpeople. They might attempt to correct him with the assistance of arope and a limb of a tree. Somewhere he must cut in ahead of thisReeve and start out at him if possible. As for his ability to keeppace with a horse he had no doubt that he could do it fairly well. More than once he had gone out on foot, while Harry and Joe rode, andhe had pressed the little ponies, bearing their riders slowly up anddown the slopes, to keep pace with him. On the level, of course, itwas a different matter, but in broken country he more than kept up. 

"Have you got a grudge agin' Reeve?" asked the host, as he brought inthe fried eggs. 

"Maybe, " admitted Bull, and instantly he began to attack the food. 

The proprietor watched with a growing awe. No chinook ever ate snow asthis hungry giant melted food to nothingness. He came back with thefirst stack of flapjacks and bacon and more questions. "But I'd thinkthat a gent like you'd be pretty careful about tangling with PeteReeve--him being so handy with a gun and you such a tolerablebig target. "

"I've figured that all out, " said Bull calmly. "But they's so much ofme to kill that I don't figure one bullet could do the work. Do you?"

The eyes of the proprietor grew large. He swallowed, and before hecould answer Bull continued in the exposition of his theory. "Beforehe shoots the next shot, maybe I can get my hands on him. "

"You going to fight him bare hands agin' a gun?"

"You see, " said Bull apologetically, "I ain't much good with a gun, but I feel sort of curious about what would happen if I got my gripon a man. "

And that was the foundation on which another section of the BullHunter legend was built. 

CHAPTER 6

The bed on which Bull Hunter reposed his bulk that night was not thecot to which he was shown by his host. One glance at the spindlingwooden legs of the canvas-bottomed cot was enough for Bull, and havingwrapped himself in the covers he lay down on the floor and wasinstantly asleep. 

While it was still dark, he wakened out of a dream in which Pete Reeveseemed to be riding far--far away on the rim of the world. Ten minuteslater Bull was on the trail out of Johnstown. There was only one trailfor a horseman south of Johnstown, and that trail followed thewindings of the valley. Bull planned to push across the ragged peaksof the Little Cloudy Mountains and head off the fugitive atGlenn Crossing. 

Two days of stern labor went into the next burst. He followed the coldstars by night and the easy landmarks by day, and for food he had thestock of raisins he had bought at Johnstown. He came out of theheights and dropped down into Glenn Crossing in the gloom of thesecond evening. But raisins are meager support for such a bulk as thatof Bull Hunter. It was a gaunt-faced giant who looked in at the doorof the shop where the blacksmith was working late. The mechanic lookedup with a start at the deep voice of the stranger, but he managed tostammer forth his tidings. Such a man as Pete Reeve had indeed been inGlenn Crossing, but he had gone on at the very verge of day and night. 

Bull Hunter set his teeth, for there was no longer a possibility ofcutting off Pete Reeve by crossing country. The immense labors of thelast three days had merely served to put him on the heels of thehorseman, and now he must follow straight down country and attempt tomatch his long legs against the speed of a fine horse. He drew a deepbreath and plunged into the night out of Glenn Crossing, on the southtrail. At least he would make one short, stiff march before theweariness overtook him. 

That weariness clouded his brain ten miles out. He built a fire in acover of pines and slept beside it. Before dawn he was up and outagain. In the first gray of the daylight he reached a little store ata crossroad, and here he paused for breakfast. A tousled girl, rubbingthe sleep out of her eyes, served him in the kitchen. The firstglimpse of the hollow cheeks and the unshaven face of Bull Hunterquite awakened her. Bull could feel her watching him, as she glidedabout the room. He sunk his head between his shoulders and glared downat the table. No doubt she would begin to gibe at him before long. Most women did. He prepared himself to meet with patience thatincredible sting and penetrating hurt of a woman's mockery. 

But there was no mockery forthcoming. The sun was still not up when hepaid his bill and hastened to the door of the old building. Quickfootsteps followed him, a hand touched his shoulders, and he turnedand looked suspiciously down into the face of the girl. It was afrightened face, he thought, and very pretty. At some interval betweenthe time when he first saw her and the present, she had found time torearrange her hair and make it smooth. Color was pulsing inher cheeks. 

"Stranger, " she said softly, "what are you running away from?"

The question slowly penetrated the mind of Bull; he was stillbewildered by the change in her--something electric, to be felt ratherthan noted with the eye. 

"They ain't any reason for hurrying on, " she urged. "I--I can hideyou, easy. Nobody could find where I'll put you, and there you canrest up. You must be tolerable tired. "

There was no doubt about it. There was kindness as well as anxiety inher voice. For the second time in his entire life, Bull decided that awoman could be something more than an annoyance. She was placing avalue on him, just as Jessie, three days before, had placed a value onhim; and it disturbed Bull. For so many years, he had been mocked andscorned by his uncle and cousins that deep in his mind was engravedthe certainty that he was useless. He decided to hurry on before thegirl found out the truth. 

"I can still walk, " he said, "and, while I can walk, I got to gosouth. But--you gimme heart, lady. You gimme a pile of heart to keepgoing. Maybe"--he paused, uncertain what to say next, and yetobviously she expected something more--"I'll get a chance to come backthis way, and if I do, I'll see you! You can lay to that--I'llsee you!"

He was gone before she could answer, and he was wondering why she hadlooked down with that sudden color and that queer, pleased smile. Itwould be long before Bull understood, but, even without understanding, he found that his heart was lighter and an odd warmth suffused him. 

The rising of the sun found him in the pale desert with the magic ofthe hills growing distant behind him, and he settled to a differentstep through the thin sand--a short, choppy step. His weight wasagainst him here, but it would be even a greater disadvantage to ahorseman, and with this in mind, he pressed steadily south. 

Every day on that south trail was like a year in the life of Bull. Heat and thirst wasted him, the constant labor of the march hardenedhis muscles, and he got that forward look about his eyes, which comeswith shadows under the lids and a constant frown on the forehead. Itwas long afterward that men checked up his march from date to date anddiscovered that the distance between the shack of Bill Campbell andHalstead in the South was one hundred and fifty miles over bittermountains and burning desert, and that Bull Hunter had made thedistance in five days. 

All this was learned and verified later when Bull was a legend. Whenhe strode into Halstead on that late afternoon no one had ever heardof the man out of the mountains. He was simply an oddity in a countrywhere oddities draw small attention. 

Yet a rumor advanced before Bull. A child, playing in the incredibleheat of the sun, saw the dusty giant heaving in the distance and ranto its mother, frightened, and the worn-faced mother came to the porchand shaded her eyes to look. She passed on the word with a call thattraveled from house to house. So that, when Bull entered the long, irregular street of Halstead, he found it lined on either side bychildren, old men, women. It was almost as though they had heard ofthe thing he had come to do and were there to watch. 

Bull shrank from their eyes. He would far rather have slipped aroundthe back of the village and gone toward its center unobserved. A pairof staring eyes to Bull was like the pointing of a loaded gun. He putunspoken sentences upon every tongue, and the sentences were those hehad heard so often from his uncle and his uncle's sons. 

"Too big to be any good. "

"Bull's got the size of a hoss, and as a hoss he'd do pretty well, buthe ain't no account as a man. "

His life had been paved with such burning remarks as these. Many anevening had been long agony to him as the three sat about and baitedhim. He hurried down the street, the pulverized sand squirting upabout his heavy boots and drifting in a mist behind him. When he wasgone an old man came out and measured those great strides with his eyeand then stretched his legs vainly to cover the same marks. But this, of course, Bull did not see, and he would not have understood it, hadhe seen, except as a mockery. 

He paused in front of the hotel veranda, an awful figure to behold. His canvas coat was rolled and tied behind his sweating shoulders; histoo-short sleeves had bothered him and they were now cut off at theelbow and exposed the sun-blackened forearms; his overalls streamed inrags over his scarred boots. He pushed the battered hat far back onhis head and looked at the silent, attentive line of idlers who sat onthe veranda. 

"Excuse me, gents, " he said mildly. "But maybe one of you might knowof a little gent with iron-gray hair and a thin face and quick ways ofacting and little, thin hands. " He illustrated his meaning byextending his own huge paws. "His name is Pete Reeve. "

That name caused a sharp shifting of glances, not at Bull, but fromman to man. A tall fellow rose. He advanced with his thumbs hookedimportantly in the arm holes of his vest and braced his legs apart ashe faced Bull. The elevation of the veranda floor raised him so thathe was actually some inches above the head of his interlocutor, andthe tall man was deeply grateful for that advantage. He was, in truth, a little vain of his own height, and to have to look up to anyoneirritated him beyond words. Having established his own superiorposition, he looked the giant over from head to foot. He kept one eyesteadily on Bull, as though afraid that the big man might dodge out ofsight and elude him. 

"And what might you have to do with Pete Reeve?" he asked. "Mightn'tyou be a partner of Pete's? Kind of looks like you was following himsort of eager, friend. "

While this question was being asked, Bull saw that the line of idlerssettled forward in their chairs to hear the answer. It puzzled him. For some mysterious reason these men disapproved of any one who wasintimately acquainted with Pete Reeve, it seemed. He looked blandlyupon the tall man. 

"I never seen Pete Reeve, " said Bull apologetically. 

"Ah? Yet you're follerin' him hotfoot?"

"I was aiming to see him, you know, " answered Bull. 

The tall man regarded him with eyes that began to twinkle beneath hisfrown. Then he jerked his head aside and cast at his audience aprodigious wink. The cloudy eyes of Bull had assured him that he hadto do with a simpleton, and he was inviting the others in on the game. 

"You never seen him?" he asked gruffly, turning back to Bull. "Youexpect me to believe talk like that? Young man, d'you know who I am?"

"I dunno, " murmured Bull, overawed and drawing back a pace. 

The action drew a chuckle from the crowd. Some of the idlers even roseand sauntered to the edge of the veranda, the better to see thebaiting of the giant. His prodigious size made his timidity themore amusing. 

"You dunno, eh?" asked the other. "Well, son, I'm Sheriff BillAnderson!" He waited to see the effect of this portentousannouncement. 

"I never heard tell of any Sheriff Bill Anderson, " said Bull in thesame mild voice. 

The sheriff gasped. The idlers hastily veiled their mouths with muchcoughing and clearing of the throat. It seemed that the tables hadbeen subtly turned upon the sheriff. 

"You!" exclaimed the sheriff, extending a bony arm. "I got to tellyou, partner, that I'm a pile suspicious. I'm suspicious of anybodythat's a friend of Pete Reeve. How long have you knowed him?"

Bull was very anxious to pacify the tall man. He shifted his weight tothe other foot. "Something less'n nothing, " he hastened to explain. "Iain't never seen him. "

"And why d'you want to see him? What d'you know about him?"

It flashed through the mind of Bull that it would be useless to tellwhat he knew of Pete. Obviously nobody would believe what he couldtell of how Reeve had met and shot down Uncle Bill Campbell. For BillCampbell was a historic figure as a fighter in the mountain regions, and surely his face must be bright even at this distance from hishome. That he could have walked beyond the sphere of Campbell's famein five days never occurred to Bull Hunter. 

"I dunno nothing good, " he confessed. 

There was a change in the sheriff. He descended from the floor of theveranda with a stiff-legged hop and took Bull by the arm, leading himdown the street. 

"Son, " he said earnestly, walking down the street with Bull, "d'youknow anything agin' this Pete Reeve? I want to know because I got Petebehind the bars for murder!"

"Murder?" asked Bull. 

"Murder--regular murder--something he'll hang for. And if you got anyinside information that I can use agin' him, why I'll use it and I'llbe mighty grateful for it! You see everybody knows Pete Reeve. Everybody knows that, for all these years, he's been going aroundkilling and maiming men, and nobody has been able to bring him up foranything worse'n self-defense. But now I think I got him to rights, and I want to hang him for it, stranger, partly because it'd be afeather in my cap, and partly because it'd be doing a favor for everygood, law-abiding citizen in these parts. So do what you can to helpme, stranger, and I'll see that your time ain't wasted. "

There was something very wheedling and insinuating about all thistalk. It troubled Bull. His strangely obscure life had left him achild in many important respects, and he had a child's instinctiveknowledge of the mental processes of others. In this case he felt aprofound distrust. There was something wrong about this sheriff, hisinstincts told him--something gravely wrong. He disliked the man whohad started to ridicule him before many men and was now soconfidential, asking his help. 

"Sheriff Anderson, " he said, "may I see this Reeve?"

"Come right along with me, son. I ain't pressing you for what youknow. But it may be a thing that'll help me to hang Reeve. And if itis, I'll need to know it. Understand? Public benefit--that's what I'mafter. Come along with me and you can see if Reeve's the manyou're after. "

They crossed the street through a little maelstrom of fine dust whicha wind circle had picked up, and the sheriff led Bull into the jail. They crossed the tawdry little outer room with its warped floorcreaking under the tread of Bull Hunter. Next they came face to facewith a cage of steel bars, and behind it was a little gray man on abunk. He sat up and peered at them from beneath bushy brows, athin-faced man, extremely agile. Even in sitting up, one caught manypossibilities of catlike speed of action. 

Bull knew at once that this was the man he sought. He stood close tothe bars, grasping one in each great hand, and with his face pressedagainst the steel, he peered at Pete Reeve. The other was very calm. 

"Howdy, sheriff, " he said. "Bringing on another one to look over yourbear?"

CHAPTER 7

The prisoner's good humor impressed Bull immensely. Here was a mantalking commonplaces in the face of death. A greater man than UncleBill, he felt at once--a far greater man. It was impossible toconceive of that keen, sharp eye and that clawlike hand sending abullet far from the center of the target. 

He gave his eyes long sight of that face, and then turned from thebars and went out with the sheriff. 

"Is that your man?" asked the sheriff. 

"I dunno, " said Bull, fencing for time as they stood in front of thejail. "What'd he do?"

"You mean why he's in jail? I'll tell you that, son, but first I wantto know what you got agin' him--and your proofs--mostly your proofs!"

The distaste which Bull had felt for the sheriff from the first nowbecame overpowering. That he should be the means of bringing thatterrible and active little man to an end seemed, as a matter of fact, absurd. Guile must have played a part in that capture. 

Suppose he were to tell the sheriff about the shooting of Uncle Bill?That would be enough to convince men that Pete Reeve was capable ofmurder, for the shooting of Uncle Bill had been worse than murder. Itspared the life and ruined it at the same time. But suppose he addedhis evidence and allowed the law to take its course with Pete Reeve?Where would be his own reward for his long march south and all thepain of travel and the crossing of the mountains at the peril of hislife? There would be nothing but scorn from Uncle Bill when hereturned, and not that moment of praise for which he yearned. To gainthat great end he must kill Pete Reeve, but not by the aid of the law. 

"I dunno, " he said to the sheriff who waited impatiently. "I figurethat what I know wouldn't be no good to you. "

The sheriff snorted. "You been letting me waste all this time on you?"he asked Bull. "Why didn't you tell me that in the first place?"

Bull scratched his head in perplexity. But as he raised the great armand put his hand behind his head, the sheriff winced back a little. "I'm sorry, " said Bull. 

The sheriff dismissed him with a grunt of disgust, and strode off. 

Bull started out to find information. This idea was growing slowly inhis mind. He must kill Pete Reeve, and to accomplish that great end hemust first free him from the jail. He went back to the hotel and wentinto the kitchen to find food. The proprietor himself came back toserve him. He was a pudgy little man with a dignified pointed beard ofwhich he was inordinately proud. 

"It's between times for meals, " he declared, "but you being thebiggest man that ever come into the hotel, I'll make an exception. "And he began to hunt through the cupboard for cold meat. 

"I seen Pete Reeve, " began Bull bluntly. "How come he's in jail?"

"Him?" asked the other. "Ain't you heard?"

"No. "

The little man sighed with pleasure; he had given up hope of finding anew listener for that oft-told tale. "It happened last night, " heconfided. "Along late in the afternoon in rides Johnny Strange. Hetells us he was out to Dan Armstrong's place when, about noon, alittle gray-headed man that give the name of Pete Reeve came in andasked for chow. Of course Johnny Strange pricks up his ears when hehears the name. We all heard about Pete Reeve, off and on, as aboutthe slickest gunman that the ranges ever turned out. So he looks Peteover and wonders at finding such a little man. "

The proprietor drew himself up to his full height. "He didn't knowthat size don't make the man! Well, Armstrong trotted out some chuckfor Reeve, and after Pete had eaten, Johnny Strange suggested a game. They sat in at three-handed stud poker. 

"Things went along pretty good for Johnny. He made a considerablewinning. Then it come late in the afternoon, and he seen he'd have tobe getting back home. He offered to bet everything he'd won, or doubleor nothing, and when the boys didn't want to do that, it give him aclean hand to stand up and get out. He got up and said good-bye andhung around a while to see how the next hands went. So far as he couldmake out, Pete Reeve was losing pretty steady. Then he come on in. 

"Well, when Johnny Strange told about Pete being out there, SheriffAnderson was in the room and he rises up. 

"'Don't look good to me, ' he says. 'If a gunfighter is losing money, most like he'll fight to win it back. Maybe I'll go out and look thatgame over. '

"And saying that he slopes out of the room. 

"Well, none of us took much stock in the sheriff going out to takecare of Armstrong. You see Armstrong was the old sheriff, and he giveAnderson a pretty stiff run for his money last election. They bothbeen spending most of their time and energy the last few years hatingeach other. When one of 'em is in office the other goes around sayingthat the gent that has the plum is a crook; and then Anderson goesout, and Armstrong comes in, and Anderson says the same thing aboutArmstrong. Take 'em general and they always had the boys worried whenthey was together, for fear of a gunfight and bullets flying. And so, when Anderson stands up and says he's going out to see that Reevedon't do no harm to Armstrong, we all sat back and kind of laughed. 

"But we laughed at the wrong thing. Long about an hour or so afterdark we hear two men come walking up on the veranda, and one of 'em weknowed by the sound was the sheriff. "

"How could you tell by the sound?" asked Bull innocently. 

"Well, you see the sheriff always wears steel rims on his heels likehe was a horse. He's kind of close with his money is old Anderson, I'll tell a man! We hear the ring of them heels on the porch, andpretty soon in comes the sheriff, herding a gent in ahead of him. Andwho d'you think that gent was? It was Reeve! Yes, sir, the old sheriffhad stepped out and grabbed his man. He wasn't there quick enough tostop the killing of Armstrong, but he got there fast enough to nabReeve. Seems that when he was riding up to the house he heard a shotfired, and then he seen a man run out of the house and jump on hishoss, and the sheriff didn't stop to ask no questions. He just outwith his gat and drills the gent's hoss. And while Reeve wasstruggling on the ground, with the hoss flopping around and dying, thesheriff runs up and sticks the irons on Reeve. Then he goes into thehouse and finds Armstrong lying shot through the heart. Clear as day!Reeve loses a lot of money, and when it comes to a pinch he hates tosee that money gone when he could get it back for the price of oneslug. So he outs with his gun and shoots Armstrong. And the worst partof it was that Armstrong didn't have no gun on at the time. Thesheriff found Armstrong's gun hanging on the wall along with hiscartridge belt. Yep, it was plain murder, and Pete Reeve'll hang ashigh as the sky--and a good thing, too!"

This story was a shock to Bull for a reason that would not haveaffected most men. That a man who had had the courage to stand up andface Uncle Bill in a fair duel should have been so cowardly, sovenomous as to take a mean advantage of a gambling companion seemed toBull altogether too strange to be reasonable. Certainly, if he had hada difference with this fellow, thought Bull, Pete Reeve was the man tolet the other use his own weapons before he fought. But to shoot himdown across a table, unwarned--this was too much to believe! And yetit was the truth, and Pete Reeve was to hang for it. 

The big man sat shaking his head. "And they found the money on PeteReeve?" he asked gloomily. "They found the money he took off thisArmstrong?"

"There's the funny part of the yarn, " said the proprietor glibly. "Pete had the nerve to shoot the gent down in cold blood, but when heseen him fall he lost his nerve. He didn't wait to grab the money, butran out and jumped on his hoss and tried to get away. So there youare. But it pretty often happens that way! Take the oldest gunfighterin the world, and, if his stomach ain't resting just right, it sort ofupsets him to see a crimson stain. I seen it happen that way with theworst of 'em, and in the old days they used to be a rough crowd in mybarroom. They don't turn out that style of gent no more!" He sighed ashis mind flickered back into the heroic past. 

"And Reeve--he admits he done the killing?" Bull asked hopelessly. 

"Him? Nope, he's too foxy for that. But the only story he told was sofoolish that we laughed at him, and he ain't had the nerve to try tobluff us ever since. He says that he was sitting peaceable withArmstrong when all at once without no warning they was a shot from thewindow--the east window, I remember he was particular to say--andArmstrong dropped forward on the table, shot through the heart. 

"Reeve says that he didn't wait to ask no questions. He blew thecandle out, and having got the darkness on his side, he made a jumpthrough the door and got onto his hoss. He says that he wanted tobreak away to the trees and try to get a shot at the murderer fromcover, but the minute he got onto his hoss, he had his hoss shot fromunder him. "

"Was they any shots fired then?"

"Yep. Reeve says that he fired a couple of times when he fell. But thesheriff says that Reeve only fired once, as his hoss was falling, andthat the other shot that was found fired out of Reeve's gun was firedinto the heart of Armstrong. Oh, they ain't any doubt about it. AllReeve has got is a cock-and-bull yarn that would make a fool laugh!"

Although Bull had been many times assured by his uncle and his cousinsthat he was a fool of the first magnitude, he was in no mood forlaughter. Somewhere in the tale there was something wrong, for hismind refused to conjure up the picture of Reeve pulling his gun andshooting across the table into the breast of a helpless, unwarned man. That would not be the method of a man who could stand up to UncleBill. That would not be the method of the man who had sat up on hisbunk and looked so calmly into the face of the sheriff. 

Bull stood up and dragged his hat firmly over his eyes. "I'd kind oflike to see the place where that shooting was done, " he declared. 

"You got lots of time before night, " said the proprietor. "Ain'tmore'n a mile and a half out the north trail. Take that path right outthere, and you can ride out inside of five minutes. "

There was no horse for Bull Hunter to ride. But, having thanked hishost, he stepped out into the cooler sunshine of the late afternoon. 

The trail led through scattering groves of cottonwood most of the way, for it was bottom land, partially flooded in the winter season ofrain, and, even in the driest and hottest part of the summer, marshyin places. He followed the twisting little trail through spots ofshadow and stretches of open sky until he reached the shack which wasobviously that of the dead Armstrong. 

The moment he entered the little cabin he received proof positive. 

The furniture had not apparently been disturbed since the shooting. The table still leaned crazily, as though it had not recovered from aviolent shock on one side. One chair was overturned. A box had beensmashed to splinters, probably by having someone put a footthrough it. 

Bull examined the deal table. Across the center of it there was a darkstain, and on the farther side, two hands were printed distinctly intothe wood, in the same dull color. The whole scene rose revoltinglydistinct in the mind of Bull. 

Here sat Dan Armstrong playing his cheerful game, laughing andjesting, because forsooth he was the winner. And there, on theopposite side of the table, sat Pete Reeve, the guest in the house ofhis host, growing darker and darker as the money was transferred fromhis pocket to the pocket of the jovial Armstrong. Then, a suddentaking of offense at some harmless jest, the cold flash of steel asReeve leaned and jumped to his feet, and then the explosion of therevolver, with Armstrong settling slowly, limply forward on the table. There he lay with a stream pouring across the table from the deathwound, his helpless arms outstretched on the wood. 

Then Reeve, panic-stricken, perhaps with a sudden stirring of remorse, started for the door, struck the box on his way, smashing it to bits, and as soon as he got outside, leaped for his horse. Luckilyretribution had overtaken the murderer in the very moment of escape. Bull Hunter sighed. Never had the strength of the arm of the law beenso vividly brought home to him as by this incident. Suppose that hehad fulfilled his purpose and killed Reeve? Would not the law havereached for him in the same fashion and taken and crushed him?

He shuddered, and looking up from his broodings, he glanced throughthe opposite window and saw that the woods were growing dark in thatdirection. Night was approaching, and, with the feeling of night, there was a ghostly sense of death, as though the spirit of the deadman were returning to his old home. On the other side of the house, however, the woods showed brighter. This was the east window--the eastwindow through which Reeve declared that the shot had been fired. 

Bull shook his head. He stepped out of the cabin and looked about. Itwas a prosperous little stretch of meadow, cleared into thecottonwoods and reclaiming part of the marshland--all very rich soil, as one could see at a glance. There was a field which had beenrecently upturned by the plow, perhaps the work of yesterday. Thefurrows were still black, still not dried out by the sun. Today wouldhave been the time for harrowing, but that work was indefinitelypostponed by the grim visitor. No doubt this Armstrong was anindustrious man. The sense of a wasted life was brought home to Bull;a bullet had ended it all!

Absent-mindedly he passed around the side of the house and started forthe east window through which Reeve had said that the bullet wasfired, but he shook his head at once. 

On the east side the house leaned against a mass of white stone. Itrose high, rough, ragged. Certainly a man stalking a house to fire ashot would never come up to it from this side! His own words wereconvicting Reeve of the murder!

Still he continued to clamber over the stones until he stood by thewindow. To be sure, if a man stood there, he could easily have firedinto the room and into the breast of a man sitting on the far side ofthe table. Armstrong was found there. Bull looked down to his feet asa thoughtful man will do, and there, very clearly marked against thewhite of the stone, he saw a dark streak--two of them, side by side. 

He bent and looked at them. Then he rubbed the places with hisfingertips and examined the skin. A stain had come away from the rock. It was as if the rocks had been rubbed with lead or a soft iron. Andthen, strangely, into the mind of Bull came the memory of what thehotel man had said of the sheriff's iron-shod heels. 

The sheriff had gone for many a year hating Armstrong. The truthrushed over the brain of the big man. What a chance for a crafty mind!To kill his enemy and place the blame on the shoulders of one alreadyknown to be a man-killer! Bull Hunter leaped from the rocks andstarted back for the town with long, ground-devouring strides. 

CHAPTER 8

There were two reasons for the happiness which lightened the step ofBull Hunter as he strode back for the town. In the first place he sawa hope of liberating Reeve from jail and accomplishing his own missionof killing the man. In the second place he felt a peculiar joy at thethought of freeing such a man from the imputation of a cowardly murder. 

Yet he had small grounds for his hopes. Two little dark marks on thewhite, friable stone, marks that the first small shower of rain wouldwash away, marks that the first keen sandstorm would rub off--this washis only proof. And with this to free one man from danger of the ropeand place the head of another under the noose--it was a task to trythe resources of a cleverer man than Bull. 

Indeed, the high spirits of Bull in some measure left him as he drewnearer and nearer to the village. How could he convict the sheriff?How, with his clumsy wits and his clumsy tongue, could he bring thetruth to light? Had he possessed the keen eyes of his uncle he feltthat a single glance would have made the guilt stand up in the face ofAnderson. But his own eyes, alas, were dull and clouded. 

Thoughtfully, with bowed head, he held his course. A strange picture, surely, this man who so devoutly wished to free another from thedanger of the law in order that he might take a life into his ownhands. But the contrast did not strike home to Bull. To him everythingthat he did was as clear as day. But how to go to work? If the manwere like himself it would be an easy matter. More than once heremembered how his cousins had shifted the blame for their own boyishpranks upon him. In the presence of their father they would accuseBull with a well-planned lie, and the very fact that he had beenaccused made Bull blush and hang his head. Before he could be heard inhis own behalf the cruel eye of his uncle had grown stern, and Bullwas condemned as a culprit. 

"The only time you show any sense, " his uncle had said more than once, "is when you want to do something you hadn't ought to do!"

Steadily through the years he had served as a scapegoat for hiscousins. They set a certain value upon him for his use in thisrespect. Ah, if only he had that keen, embarrassing eye of BillCampbell with which to pierce to the guilty heart of the sheriff andmake him speak! The eye of his uncle was like the eye of a crowd. Itwas an audience in itself and condemned or praised with the strengthof numbers. 

It was this thought of numbers that brought the clue to a possiblesolution to Bull Hunter. When it came to him he stopped short in theroad, threw back his head and laughed. 

"And what's all the celebration about?" asked a voice behind him. 

He turned and found Sheriff Anderson on his horse directly behind him. The soft loam of the trail had covered the sound of the sheriffsapproach. Bull blushed with a sudden sense of shame. Moreover, thesheriff seemed unapproachably stern and dignified. He sat erect in thesaddle, a cavalier figure with his long, well-drilled mustaches. 

"I dunno, " said Bull vaguely, pushing his hat back to scratch histhatch of blond hair. "I didn't know I was celebrating, particular. "

The sheriff watched him with small, evil eyes. "You been snoopingaround, son, " he said coldly. "And we folks in this part, we don'tlike snoopers. Understand?"

"No, " said Bull frankly, "I don't exactly figure what you mean. " Thenhe dropped his hand to his hip. 

"Git your hand off that gun!" said the sheriff, his own weaponflashing instantly in the light. 

It had been a move like lightning. Its speed stunned and baffled BullHunter. Something cold formed in his throat, choking him, and heobediently drew his hand away. He did more. He threw both immense armsabove his head and stood gaping at the sheriff. 

The latter eyed him for a moment with stern amusement, and then heshoved the gun back into its holster. "I guess they ain't much harm inyou, " he said more to himself than to Bull. "But I hate a snooperworse than I do a rat. You can take them arms down. "

Bull lowered them cautiously. 

"You hear me talk?" asked the sheriff. 

"I hear, " said Bull obediently. 

"I don't like snoopers. Which means that I don't like you none toowell. Besides, who in thunder are you? A wanderin' vagrant you lookto me, and we got a law agin' vagrants. You amble along on your trailpretty pronto, and no harm'll come to you. But if you're around towntomorrow--well, you've heard me talk!"

It was very familiar talk to Bull; not the words, but the commandingand contemptuous tone in which they were spoken. Crestfallen, hesubmitted. Of one thing he must make sure: that no harm befell himbefore he faced Pete Reeve and Pete Reeve's gun. Then he could onlypray for courage to attack. But the effect of the sheriff's littlegunplay entirely disheartened Bull at the prospect of facing Pete. 

With a noncommittal rejoinder he started down the road, and thesheriff put the spurs to his horse and plunged by at a full gallop, flinging the dust back into the face of the big man. Bull wiped it outof his eyes and went on gloomily. He had been trodden upon in spiritonce more. But, after all, that was so old a story that it made littledifference. It convinced him, however, of one thing; he could never doanything with the sheriff man to man. Certainly he would need the helpof a crowd before he faced the tall man and his cavalier mustaches. 

He waited until after the supper at the hotel. It was a miserablemeal for Bull; he had already eaten, and he could not find a way ofrefusing the invitation of the proprietor to sit down again. Seated atthe end of the long table he looked miserably up and down it. Nobodyhad a look for him except one of contempt. The sheriff, it seemed, hadspread a story around about his lack of spirit, and if Bull remainedlong in the village, he would be treated with little more respect thanhe had been in the house of his uncle. Even now they held him incontempt. They could not understand, for instance, why he sat so farforward. He was resting most of his weight on his legs, for fear ofthe weakness of the chair under his full bulk. But that very bulk madethem whisper their jokes and insults to one another. 

When the long nightmare of that meal was ended, Bull began making hisrounds. He had chosen his men. Every man he picked was sharp-eyed likeUncle Bill Campbell. They were the men whose inlooking eyes wouldbaffle the sheriff; they were the men capable of suspicions, and suchmen Bull needed--not dull-glancing people like himself. 

He went first to the proprietor of the hotel. "I got something to sayto the sheriff, " he declared. "And I want to have a few importantgents around town to be there to listen and hear what I got to say. Iwonder, could you be handy?"

He was surprised at the avidity with which his invitation wasaccepted. It was a long time since the hotel owner had been referredto as an "important man. "

Then he went with the same talk to five others--the blacksmith, thecarpenter and odd-jobber, the storekeeper, and two men whom he hadmarked when he first halted near the hotel veranda. To his invitationeach of them gave a quick assent. There had been something mysteriousin the manner in which this timid-eyed giant had descended upon thetown from nowhere, and now they felt that they were about to come tothe heart of the reason of his visit. 

The invitation to the sheriff was delivered by the proprietor of thehotel, and he said just enough--and no more--to bring the sheriffstraight to the hotel. Anderson arrived with his best pair of guns inhis holsters, for the sheriff was a two-gun man of the best variety. He came with the aggressive manner of one ready to beat down allopposition, but when he stepped into the room, his manner changed. Forhe found sitting about the table in the dining room, which was to bethe scene of the conference, the six most influential men of thetown--men strong enough to reelect him next year, or to throw himpermanently out of office. 

At the lower end of the table stood Bull Hunter, his arms folded, hisface blank. Standing with the light from the lamp shining upon hisface, the others seated, he seemed a man among pygmies. 

"Shall I lock the door?" asked the proprietor, and he turned to Bull, as if the latter had the right to dictate. 

Bull nodded. 

"All right, sheriff, " the proprietor went on to explain. "Our youngfriend yonder says that he's got something to say to you. He's askedeach of us to hang around and be a witness. Are you ready?"

"Jud, " burst out the sheriff, "you're an idiot! This overgrown boobyneeds a horsewhipping, and that's the sort of an answer I'd like tomake to him. "

Having delivered this broadside he strode up and confronted Bull. Itwas a very poor move. In the first place, the sheriff had insulted oneof the men who was about to act as his official judge. In the secondplace, by putting himself so close to Bull, he made himself appear atrifle ludicrous. Also, if he expected to throw Bull out of the poisewith this blustering, he failed. It was not that Bull did not feelfear, but he had seen a curious thing--the sinewy, long neck of thesheriff--and he was wondering what would happen if one of his handsshould grip that throat for a single instant. He grew so fascinated bythis study that he forgot his fear of the sheriff's guns. 

Anderson hastened to retreat from his false position. "Gents, " hesaid, "excuse me for getting edgy. But, if you want me to listen tothis fellow's talk--"

"Hunter is his name--Bull Hunter, " said the proprietor. 

The sheriff took his place at the far end of the long table. LikeBull, he preferred to stand. "Start in your talk, " he commanded. 

"It looks to me, " said Bull gently, "that they's only one gent herethat's wearing a gun. " He had thrown his own belt on a chair; and nowhe fixed his eyes on the weapons of Anderson. 

The sheriff glared. "You want me to take off my guns? Son, I'd rathergo naked!"

Jud, the hotel man, had already been insulted once by the sheriff, andhe had been biding his time. This seemed an excellent opening. "Looksto me, " he remarked, "like Mr. Hunter was right. He's got somethingpretty serious to say, and he don't want to take no chances on yourcutting him short with a bullet!"

The sheriff glared at Bull and then cast a swift glance over the facesof the others. He read upon them only one expression--a coldcuriosity. Plainly they agreed with Jud, and the sheriff gave way. Hetook off his belt and tossed it upon a chair near him. Then he facedBull again, but he faced the big man with half his confidencedestroyed. As he had said, he felt worse than naked without hisrevolvers under his touch, but now he attempted to brave out thesituation. 

"Well, " he said jocularly, "what you going to accuse me of, BullHunter?"

"I'm just going to tell a little story that I been thinking about, "said Bull. 

"Story--nothing!" exclaimed Anderson. 

"Wait a minute, " broke in Jud. "Let him tell this his own way--I thinkyou'd best, sheriff!"

Bull was looking at the sheriff and through him into the distance. After all, it was a story, as distinctly a story as if he had it in abook. As he began to tell it, he forgot Sheriff Anderson at thefarther end of the table. He talked slowly, bringing the words out oneby one, as if what he said were coming to him by inspiration--a kindof second sight. 

"It starts in, " said Bull, "the other night when the gent come in withword that Pete Reeve was out playing cards with Armstrong and losingmoney. When the sheriff heard that, he started to thinking. He wasremembering how he'd hated Armstrong for a good many years, and thatmade him think that maybe Armstrong would get into trouble with Reeve, because Reeve is a pretty good shot, and the sheriff hoped that, if itcome to a showdown, Reeve would shoot Armstrong full of holes. Andthat started him wishing pretty strong that Armstrong wouldget killed!"

"Do I have to stand here and listen to this fool talk?" demanded thesheriff. 

"I'm just supposing, " said Bull. "Surely they ain't any harm in justsupposing?"

"Not a bit, " decided Jud, who had taken the position of main arbiter. 

"Well, the sheriff got to wishing Armstrong was dead so strong that itdidn't seem he could stand to have him living much more. He told thefolks that he was going out to see that no harm come to Armstrong fromReeve. Then he got on his hoss and went out. All the way he wasthinking hard. Armstrong was the gent that was sheriff beforeAnderson; Armstrong was the gent that might get the job and throw himout again. Ain't that clear? Well, the sheriff gets close to thecabin and--"

He paused and slowly extended his long arm toward the sheriff. "What'dyou do then?"

"Me? I heard a shot--"

"You left your hoss standing in the brush near the house, " interruptedBull, "and you went along on foot. "

"Does that sound reasonable, a gent going on foot when he might ride?"demanded the sheriff. 

"You didn't want to make no noise, " said Bull, and his great voiceswallowed the protest of the sheriff. 

Anderson cast another glance at the listeners. Plainly they werefascinated by this tale, and they were following it step by stepwith nods. 

"You didn't make no noise, either, " went on Bull Hunter. "You slippedup to the cabin real soft, and you climbed up on the east side of thehouse over some rocks. "

"Why in reason should a man climb over rocks? Why wouldn't he go rightto the door?"

"Because you didn't want to be seen. "

"Then why not the west window, fool!"

"You tried that window first, but they was some dry brush lying infront of it, and you couldn't come close enough to look in withoutmaking a noise stepping on the dead wood. So then you went around tothe other side and climbed over the rocks until you could look intothe cabin. Am I right?"

"I--no, curse you, no! Of course you ain't right!" shouted Anderson. 

"Looking right through that window, " said Bull heavily, "you seenArmstrong, the man you hated, facing you, and, with his back turned, was Pete Reeve. You said to yourself, 'Drop Armstrong with a bullet, catch Reeve, and put the blame on him!' Then you pulled your gun. "

He pushed aside the ponderous armchair which stood beside him at thehead of the table. 

"Say, " shouted the sheriff, paler than ever now, "what are youaccusing me of?"

"Murder!" thundered Bull Hunter. 

The roar of Bull's voice chained every one in his place, the sheriffwith staring eyes, and Jud in the act of raising his hand. 

"I'll jail you for slander!" said the sheriff, fighting to assuranceand knowing that he was betrayed by his pallor and by the icyperspiration which he felt on his forehead. 

"Anderson, " said Bull, "I seen the marks of them iron heels of yourson the rock!"

That was a little thing, of course. As evidence it would not haveconvinced the most prejudiced jury in the world, but Sheriff Andersonwas not weighing small points. Into his mind leaped one image--thewhiteness of those rocks on which he had stood and the indelible markhis heels must have made against that whiteness. He was lost, he felt, and he acted on the impulse to fight for his life. 

One last glance he cast at the six listeners, and in their wide-eyedinterest he read his own damnation. Then Anderson whirled and leapedfor his belt with the guns. 

Out of six throats came six yells of fear; there was a noise of chairsbeing pushed back and a wild scramble to find safety under the table. Jud, risking a moment's delay, knocked the chimney off the lamp beforehe dived. The flame leaped once and went out, but the pale moonshinepoured through the window and filled the room with a weird playof shadows. 

What Bull Hunter saw was not the escape of the sheriff, but a suddenblind rage against everything and everybody. It was a passion that sethim trembling through all of his great body. One touch of trust, oneword of encouragement had been enough to make him a giant to tear upthe stump in the presence of Jessie and his cousins; how far moremighty he was in the grip of this new emotion, this rage. 

His own gun was far away, but guns were not what he wanted. They wereuncongenial toys to his great hands. Instead, he reached down andcaught up that massive chair of oak, built to resist time, built tobear even such a bulk as that of Bull Hunter with ease. Yet he caughtit up in one hand, weighed it behind his head at the full limit of hisextended arm, and then, bending forward, he catapulted the greatmissile down the length of the table. It hit the lamp on the way andsplintered it to small bits, its momentum unimpeded. Hurtling onacross the table it shot at the sheriff as he whirled with his guns inhis hands. 

Fast as the chair shot forward, the hand of the sheriff was fasterstill. Bull saw the big guns twitch up, silver in the moonshine. Theyexploded in one voice, as if the flying mass of wood were an animateobject. Then the sheriff was struck and hurled crashing alongthe floor. 

CHAPTER 9

At that fall the six men scampered from beneath the table to seize thedowned man. There was no need of their haste. Sheriff Anderson was awreck rather than a fighting man. One arm was horribly crumpledbeneath him; his ribs were shattered, there was a great gash where therung of the chair had cut into the bone like a knife. 

They stood chattering about the fallen man, straightening him out, feeling his pulse, making sure that he, who would soon hang at thewill of the law, was alive. Outside, voices were rushing toward them, doors slamming. 

Bull Hunter broke through the circle, bent over the limp body, anddrew a big bundle of keys from a pocket. Then, without a word, he wentback to the far end of the room, buckled on his gun belt, and insilence left the room. 

The others paid no heed. They and the newcomers who had poured intothe room were fascinated by the work of the giant rather than thegiant's self. They had a lantern, swinging dull light and grotesqueshadows across the place now, and by the illumination, two of the menwent to the wall and picked up the great oaken chair. They raised itslowly between them, a battered mass of disconnected wood. Then theylooked to the far end of the long table where he who had thrown themissile had stood. Another line had been written into the history ofBull Hunter--the first line that was written in red. 

Bull himself was on his way to the jail. He found it unguarded. Thedeputy had gone to find the cause of the commotion at the hotel. Thesteel bars, moreover, were sufficient to retain the prisoner and keepout would-be rescuers. 

In the dim light of his lantern, Bull saw that Pete Reeve was sittingcross-legged on his bunk, like a little, dried-up idol, smoking acigarette. His only greeting to the big man was a lifting of theeyebrows. But, when the big key was fitted into the lock and the lockturned, he showed his first signs of interest. He was standing up whenBull opened the door and strode in. 

"Have you got your things?" said Bull curtly. 

"What things, big fellow?"

"Why, guns and things--and your hat, of course. "

Pete Reeve walked to the corner of the cell and took a sombrero offthe wall. "Here's that hat, " he answered, "but they ain't passing outguns to jailbirds--not in these parts!"

"You ain't a jailbird, " answered Bull, "so we'll get that gun. Knowwhere it is?"

Reeve followed without a question through the open door, only stoppingas he passed beyond the bars, to look back to them with a shudder. Itwas the first sign of emotion he had shown since his arrest. But hisstep was lighter and quicker as he followed Bull into the front room. 

"In that closet, yonder, " said Reeve, pointing to a door. "That'swhere they keep the guns. "

Bull shook out his bundle of keys into the great palm of his hand. 

"Not those keys--the deputy has the key to the closet, " said Pete. "Isaw Anderson give it to him. "

Bull sighed. "I ain't got much time, partner, " he said. Approachingthe door, he examined it wistfully. "But, maybe, they's another way. "He drew back a little, raised his right leg, and smashed the heavycowhide boot against the door. The wood split from top to bottom, andBull's leg was driven on through the aperture. He paused to wrench thefragments of the door from lock and hinges and then beckoned to PeteReeve. "Look for your gun in here, Reeve. "

The little man cast one twinkling glance at his companion and then wasinstantly among the litter of the closet floor. He emerged strapping abelt about him, the holster tugging far down, so that the muzzle ofthe gun was almost at his knee. Bull appreciated the diminutive sizeof the man for the first time, seeing him in conjunction with the biggun on his thigh. 

There was an odd change in the little man also, the moment his gun wasin place. He tugged his broad-brimmed hat a little lower across hiseyes and poised himself, as if on tiptoe; his glance was a constantflicker about the room until it came to rest on Bull. "Suppose youlemme in on the meaning of all this. Who are you and where do youfigure on letting me loose? What in thunder is it all about?"

"We'll talk later. Now you got to get started. "

Bull waved to the door. Pete Reeve darted past him with noiselesssteps and paused a moment at the threshold of the jail. Plainly he wasready for fight or flight, and his right hand was toying constantlywith the holstered butt of his gun. Bull followed to the outside. 

"Hosses?" asked the little man curtly. 

"On foot, " answered Bull with equal brevity, and he led the waystraight across the street. There was no danger of being seen. All thelife of the town was drawn to a center about the hotel. Lights wereflashing behind its windows, men were constantly pounding across theveranda, running in and out. Bull led the way past the building andcut for the cottonwoods. 

"And now?" demanded Pete Reeve. "Now, partner?"

That word stung Bull. It had not been applied to him more than a halfa dozen times in his life, together with its implications of free andequal brotherhood. To be called partner by the great man who hadconquered terrible Uncle Bill Campbell!

"They's a mess in the hotel, " said Bull, explaining as shortly as hecould. "Seems that Sheriff Anderson was the gent that done the killingof Armstrong. It got found out and the sheriff tried to get away. Lotsof noise and trouble. "

"Ah, " said Reeve, "it was him, then--the old hound! I might haveknowed! But I kep' on figuring that they was two of 'em! Well, thesheriff was a handy boy with his gun. Did he drop anybody before theygot him? I heard two guns go off like one. Them must of been thesheriff's cannons. "

"They was, " said Bull, "but them bullets didn't hit nothing but wood. "

"Wild, eh? Shot into the wall?"

"Nope. Into a chair. "

The little man was struggling and panting sometimes breaking into atrot to keep up with the immense strides of his companion. "A chair?You don't say so!"

Bull was silent. 

"How come he shot at a chair? Drunk?"

"The chair was sailing through the air at him. "

"H'm!" returned Pete Reeve. "Somebody throwed a chair at him, and thesheriff got rattled and shot at it instead of dodging? Well, I've seena pile of funnier things than that happen in gun play, off and on. Whothrew the chair?"

"I did. "

"You?" He squinted up at the lofty form of Bull Hunter. "What name didyou say?" he asked gently. 

"Hunter is my name. Mostly they call me Bull. "

"You got the size for that name, partner. So you cleaned up thesheriff with a chair?" he sighed. "I wish I'd been there to see it. But who got the inside on the sheriff?"

"I dunno what you mean?"

Pete Reeve looked closely at his companion. Plainly he was bewildered, somewhere between a smile and a frown. 

"I mean who found out that the sheriff done it?"

"He told it himself, " said Bull. 

"Drunk, en?"

"Nope. Not drunk. He was asked if he didn't do the murder. "

"Great guns! Who asked him?"

"I done it, " said Bull as simply as ever. 

Reeve bit his lip. He had just put Bull down as a simple-minded hulk. He was forced to revise his opinion. 

"You done that? You follered him up, eh?"

"I just done a little thinking. So I asked him. "

Reeve shook his head. "Maybe you hypnotized him, " he suggested. 

"Nope. I just asked him. I got a lot of folks sitting around, and thenI began telling the sheriff how he done the shooting. "

"And he admitted it?"

"Nope. He jumped for a gun. "

"And then you heaved a chair at him. " Pete Reeve drew in a longbreath. "But what reason did you have, son? I got to ask you thatbefore I thank you the way I want to thank you. But, before you kickout, you'll find that Pete Reeve is a friend. "

"My reason was, " said Bull, "that I had business to do with you thatcouldn't be done in a jail. So I had to get you out. "

"And now where're we headed?"

"Where we can do that business. "

They had reached a broad break in the cottonwoods; the moonlight wasfalling so softly and brightly. 

Bull paused and looked around him. "I guess this'll have to do, " hedeclared. 

"All right, son. You can be as mysterious as you want. Now what yougot me here for?"

"To kill you, " said Bull gently. 

Pete Reeve flinched back. Then he tapped his holster, made sure of thegun, became more easy. "That's interesting, " he announced. "Youcouldn't wait for the law to hang me, eh?"

Bull began explaining laboriously. He pushed back his hat and began tocount off his points into the palm of one hand. "You shot up UncleBill Campbell, " he explained. "It ain't that I got any grudge agin'you for that, but you see, Uncle Bill took me in young and give me ahome all these years. I thought it would sort of pay him back if I runyou down. So I walked across the mountains and come after you. "

"Wait!" exclaimed Pete Reeve. "You walked?"

"Yep, " he went on, heedless of the fact that Pete Reeve was peeringearnestly into the face of his companion, now puckered with theearnest frown of thought. "I come down hoping to get you and kill you. Besides, that wouldn't only pay back Uncle Bill. It would make himthink that I was a man. You see, Reeve, I ain't quick thinking, and Iain't bright. I ain't got a quick tongue and sharp eyes, and they beentreating me like I was a kid all my life. So I got to do something. Igot to! I ain't got anything agin' you, but you just happen to be theone that I got to fight. Stand over yonder by that stump. I'll standhere, and we'll fight fair and square. "

Pete Reeve obeyed, his movements slow, as if they were the result ofhypnotism. "Bull, " he said rather faintly, looking at the toweringbulk of his opponent, "I dunno. Maybe I'm going nutty. But I figurethat you come down here to kill me for the sake of getting your uncleto pat you on the back once or twice. And you find you can't get at mebecause I'm in jail, so you work out a murder mystery to get me out, and then you tackle me. You say you ain't very bright. I dunno. Maybeyou ain't bright, but you're mighty different!"

He paused and rubbed his forehead. "Son, I've seen pretty good men inmy day, but I ain't never seen one that I cotton to like I do to you. You've saved my life. How can you figure on me going out and takingyours, now?"

"You ain't going to, maybe, " said Bull calmly. "Maybe I'll get toyou. "

"Son, " answered the other almost sadly, shaking his head, "when I'mright, with a good, steady nerve, they ain't any man in the world thatcan sling a gun with me. And tonight I'm right. If it comes to ashowdown--but are you pretty good with a gun yourself, Bull?"

"No, " answered Bull frankly. "I ain't any good compared to an expertlike you. But I'm good enough to take a chance. "

"Them sort of chances ain't taken twice, Bull!"

"You see, " said Bull, "I'm going to make a rush as I pull the gun, andif I get to you before I'm dead, well--all I ask is to lay my hands onyou, you see?"

The little man shuddered and blinked. "I see, " he said, and swallowedwith difficulty. "But, in the name of reason, Bull, have sense! Lemmetalk! I'll tell you what that uncle of yours was--"

"Don't talk!" exclaimed Bull Hunter. "I sort of like you, partner, andit sort of breaks me down to hear you talk. Don't talk, but listen. The next time that frog croaks we go for our guns, eh? That frog offin the marsh!"

He had hardly spoken before the ominous sound was heard, and Bullreached for his gun. For all his bulk of hand and unwieldy arms, thegun came smoothly, swiftly into his hand. He would have had anordinary man covered, long before the latter had his gun muzzle-clearof the leather. But Pete Reeve was no ordinary man. His arm jerkeddown; his fingers flickered down and up. They went down empty; theycame up with the burden of a long revolver, shining in the moonlight, and he fired before Bull's gun came to the level for a shot. 

Only Pete Reeve knew the marvel of his own shooting this day. He hadsworn a solemn and silent oath that he would not kill this faithful, courageous fellow from the mountains. He could have planted a bulletwhere the life lay, at any instant of the fight. But he fired foranother purpose. The moment Bull reached for his weapon he had lurchedforward, aiming to shoot as he ran. Pete Reeve set himself a doublegoal. His first intention was to disarm the giant; the other was tostop his rush. For, once within the grip of those big fingers, hislife would be squeezed out like the juice of an orange. 

His task was doubly difficult in the moonlight. But the first shotwent home nicely, aimed as exactly as a scientist finds a spot withhis instruments. Where the moon's rays splashed across the bare rightforearm of Bull, he sent a bullet that slashed through the greatmuscles. The revolver dropped from the nerveless hand of the giant, but Bull never paused. On he came, empty-handed, but with power ofdeath, as the little man well knew, in the fingers of his extendedleft hand. He came with a snarl, a savage intake of breath, as he feltthe hot slash of Pete's bullet. But Reeve, standing erect like someduelist of old, his left hand tucked into the hollow of his back, tookthe great gambling chance and refused to shoot to kill. 

He placed his second shot more effectively, for this time he must stopthat tremendous body, advancing upon him. He found one critical spot. Between the knee and the thigh, halfway up on the inside of the leftleg, he drove that second bullet with the precision of a surgeon. Theleg crumpled under Bull and sent him pitching forward on his face. 

Perhaps the marsh ground was unstable, but it seemed to Pete Reevethat the very earth quaked beneath his feet as the big man fell. Heswung his gun wide and leaned to see how serious was the damage he haddone. Bleeding would be the greater danger. 

But that fraction of a second brought him into another peril. Thegiant heaved up on his sound right leg and his sound left arm, andflung himself forward, two limbs dangling uselessly. With a hideouslycontorted face, Bull swung his left arm in a wide circle for a gripand scooped in Pete Reeve, as the latter sprang back with a cryof horror. 

The action swept Pete in and crushed his gun hand and arm against thebody of his assailant, paralyzing his only power of attack or defense. Reeve was carried down to the ground as if beneath the bulk of amountain. There was no question of sparing life now. Pete Reeve beganto fight for life. He wrestled at his gun to tug it free, but found itanchored. He pulled the trigger, and the gun spoke loud and clear, butthe bullet plunged into empty space. Then he felt that left arm beginto move, and the hand worked up behind his back like a great spider. 

Higher it rose, and the huge, thick fingers reached up and around histhroat, fumbling to get at the windpipe. Pete Reeve made his lasteffort; it was like striving to free himself from a ton's weight. Hysteria of fear and horror seized him, and his voice gave utteranceto his terror. As he screamed, the big fingers joined around histhroat. Any further pressure would end him!

He looked up into the glaring eyes and the contorted face of thegiant; the rasping, panting breathing paralyzed his senses. There wasa slight inward contraction of the grip; then it ceased. 

Miraculously he felt the great hand relax and fall away. The bulk washeaved away from him, and staggering to his own feet, he saw BullHunter supported against a tree, one leg useless, one arm streaming. 

"I couldn't seem to do it, " said Bull Hunter thickly. "I couldn'tnoways seem to do it, Reeve. You see, I sort of like you, and Icouldn't kill you, Pete. "

When Pete Reeve recovered from his astonishment he said, "You can domore. You can go home and tell that infernal hound of an uncle ofyours that you had the life of Pete Reeve under your fingertips andthat you didn't take it. It's the second time I've owed my life, andboth times in one day, and both times to one man. You tell youruncle that!"

The big man sagged still more against the tree. "I'll never go home, Pete, unless ghosts walk; and I'll never tell Uncle Bill anything, unless the ghosts talk. I'm dying pretty pronto, I think, Pete. "

"Dyin'? You ain't hurt bad, Bull!"

"It's the bleeding; all the senses is running out of my head--likewater--and the moon--is turning black--and--" He slumped down at thefoot of the tree. 

CHAPTER 10

When old Farmer Morton and his son came in their buckboard through themarshes, they heard the screaming of Pete Reeve for help. Leavingtheir team, they bolted across country to the open glade. There theyfound Pete still shouting for help, kneeling above the body of a man, and working desperately to arrange an effectual tourniquet. They ranclose and discovered the two men. 

Old Morton knew enough rude surgery to stop the bleeding. It was hewho counted the pulse and listened to the heart. "Low, " he said, "verylow--life is just flickerin', stranger. "

"If they's as much light of life in him, " said Pete Reeve, "as theflicker of a candle, I'll fan it up till it's as big as a forest fire. Man, he's got to live. "

"H'm!" said Morton. "And how come the shooting?"

"Stop your fool questions, " said Reeve. "Help me get him to town andto a bed. "

It was useless to attempt to carry that great, loose-limbed body. Theybrought the buckboard perilously through the shrubbery and thenmanaged, with infinite labor, to lift Bull Hunter into it. With PeteReeve supporting the head of the wounded man and cautioning them todrive gently, they managed the journey to the town as softly aspossible. At the hotel a strong-armed cortege bore Bull to a bed, andthey carried him reverently. Had his senses been with him he wouldhave wondered greatly; and had his uncle, or his uncle's sons, beenthere, they would surely have laughed uproariously. 

In the hotel room Pete Reeve took command at once. "He's too big todie, " he told the dubious doctor. "He's got to live. And the minuteyou say he can't, out you go and another doc comes in. Now doyour work. "

The doctor, haunted by the deep, fiery eyes of the gunfighter, steppedinto the room to minister to his patient. He had a vague feeling that, if Bull Hunter died, Pete Reeve would blame him for lack of care. Intruth, Pete seemed ready to blame everyone. He threatened to destroythe whole village if a dog was allowed to howl in the night, or if thebaby next door were permitted to cry in the day. 

Silence settled over the little town--silence and the fear of PeteReeve. Pete himself never left the sickroom. Wide-eyed, silent-footed, he was ever about. He seemed never to sleep, and the doctor swore thatthe only reason Bull Hunter did not die was because death feared toenter the room while the awful Reeve was there. 

But the long hours of unconsciousness and delirium wore away. Thencame the critical period when a relapse was feared. Finally the timecame when it could be confidently stated that Bull was recovering hishealth and his strength. 

All this filled a matter of weeks. Bull was still unable to leave hisbed. He was dull and listless, bony of hand, and liable to sleep manyhours through the very heart of the day. At this point of his recoverythe door opened one day, and, in the warmth of the afternoon, a bigman came into the room, shutting the door softly behind him. 

Bull turned his head slowly and then blinked, for it was the unshavenface of his cousin, Harry Campbell, that he saw. With his eyes closed, Bull wondered why that face was so distinctly unpleasant. When heopened them again, Harry had drawn closer, his hat pushed on the backof his head after the manner of a baffled man, and a faint smileworking at the corners of his lips. He took the limp hand of Bull inhis and squeezed it cautiously. Then he laid the hand back on thesheet and grinned more confidently at Bull. 

"Well, I'll be hanged, Bull, here you are as big as life, pretty near, and you don't act like you knew me!"

"Sure I do. Sit down, Harry. What brung you all this ways?"

"Why, anxious to see how you was doing. "

Again Bull blinked. Such anxiety from Harry was a mystery. 

"They ain't talking about much else up our way, " said Harry, "but howyou come across the mountains in the storm, and how big you are, andhow you got the sheriff, and how you rushed Pete Reeve bare-handed. Sure is some story! All the way down I just had to say that I was BullHunter's cousin to get free meals!" He licked his lips and grinnedagain. "So I come down to see how you was. "

"I'm doing tolerable fair, " said Bull slowly, "and it was good of youto come this long ways to ask that question. How's things to home?"

"Dad's bunged up for life; can't do nothing but cuss, but at that helays over anything you ever hear. " Harry's eyes flicked nervouslyabout the room. "It was him that sent me down! Where's Reeve?"

This was in a whisper. Bull gestured toward the next room. 

"Asleep? Can he hear if I talk?"

"Asleep, " said Bull. "Been up with me two days. I took a bad turn awhile back. Pete's helping himself to a nap, and he needs one!"

"Now, listen!" said Harry. "Dad figured this out, and Dad's mostlynever wrong. He says, 'Reeve shot up Bull. Now he's hanging aroundtrying to make up by nursing Bull, according to reports, because he'safraid of what Bull'll do when he gets back on his feet. But Bullhas got to know that, even when he's back on his feet, he can't beatReeve--not while Reeve can pull a gun. Nobody can beat that devil. If he wants to beat Reeve, just take advantage of him while Reeveain't expecting anything--which means while Bull is sick. ' Do youget what Dad means?"

"Sort of, " said Bull faintly. He shut out the eager, dirty, unshavenface. "I'll just close my eyes against the light. I can hear youpretty well. Go on. "

"Here's the idea. Everybody knows you hate Reeve, and Reeve fears you. Otherwise would he act like this, aside from being afraid of alynching, in case you should die? No, he wouldn't. Well, one of thesedays you take this gun"--here Harry shoved one under the pillow ofBull--"and call Pete Reeve over to you, and when he leans over yourbed, blow his brains out! That's easy, and it'll do what you'll wantto do someday. You hear? Then you can say that Reeve startedsomething--that you shot in self-defense. Everybody'll believe you, and you'll get one big name for killing Reeve! You foller me?"

Bull opened his eyes, but they were squinting as though he was in theseverest pain. "Listen, Harry, " he said at last. "I been thinkingthings out. I owe a lot to your dad for taking me in and keeping me. But all I owe him I can pay back in cash--someday. I don't owe himno love. Not you, neither. "

Harry had risen to his feet with a snarl. 

"Sit down, " said Bull, letting his great voice swell ever so little. "I'm pretty near dead, but I'm still man enough to wring the neck ofa skunk! Sit down!"

Harry obeyed limply, and his giant cousin went on, his voice softeningagain. "When you come in I closed my eyes, " said Bull, "because itseemed to me like you was a dream. I'd been awake. I'd been livingamong men that sort of liked me and respected me and didn't laugh atme. And then you come, and I saw your dirty face, and it made me thinkof a bad nightmare I'd had when you and your brother and your dadtreated me worse'n a dog. Well, Harry, I'm through with that dream. I'll never go back to it. I'm going to stay awake the rest of my life. It was your dad that put the wish to kill Reeve into my head with histalk. I met Reeve, and Reeve pumped some bullets with sense into me. He let out some of my life, but he let in a lot of knowledge. Amongother things he showed me what a friend might be. He's stayed here andnursed me and talked to me--like I was his equal, almost, instead ofbeing sort of simple, like I really am. And I've made up my mind thatI'm going to cut loose from remembering you folks in the mountains. I ain't your kind. I don't want to be your kind. I want to fight, like Pete Reeve. I don't want to murder like a Campbell! All the waythrough, I want to be like Pete Reeve. He don't know it. Maybe whenI'm well he'll go off by himself. But whether he's near or far, I'veadopted him. I'm going to pattern after him, and the happiest day ofmy life will be when I earn the right to have this man, that I triedto kill, come and take my hand and call me 'friend'! I guess thatanswers you, Harry. Now get out and take my talk back to your dad, and don't trouble me no more--you spoil my sleep!"

As he spoke the door of the next room opened softly. Peter Reeve stoodat the entrance. Harry, shaking with fear, backed toward the otherdoor, then leaped far out, and whirled out of sight with a slam andclatter of feet on the stairs. Pete Reeve came slowly to the bedside. 

"I was awake, son, " he said, "and I couldn't help hearing. "

Bull flushed heavily. 

"It's the best thing I ever heard, " said Pete. "The best thing that'sever come to my ears--partner!"

With that word their hands joined. In reality, far more than hedreamed, Bull had been born again. 

CHAPTER 11

When they were together, they made a study in contrasts. By seeing oneit was possible to imagine the other. For instance, seeing the high, narrow forehead, peaked face, the gray-flecked hair of Pete Reeve, hisnervous step, his piercing and uneasy eyes--seeing this man with hisbody from which all spare flesh was wasted so that he remained onlymuscle and nerve, it was easy to conjure up the figure of Bull Hunterby thinking of opposites. 

Their very voices held a world of difference. The tone of Pete Reevewas pitched a little high, hard, and somewhat nasal, and when he wasangry his words came shrill and ringing. The mere sound of his voicewas irritating--it put one on edge with expectancy of action. Whereasthe full, deep, slow, musical voice of Bull Hunter was a veritablesleep producer. Men might fear Charlie Bull Hunter because of histremendous bulk; but children, hearing his voice, were unafraid. 

The motions of Pete Reeve were as fast and as deft as the whiplashstriking of a snake. The motions of Bull Hunter were premeditated andcautious, as befitting one whose hands might crush what they touched, and whose footfall made a flooring groan. 

He sat cross-legged on the floor, his back against the wall. They hadmoved a ponderous stool into the room so that Bull might havesomething on which to sit, but long habit had made him uneasy in achair, and he kept to the floor by preference, with the great squarechin resting on his fist and his knee supporting his elbow. Thatposition pressed the forearm against the biceps and the big musclesbulged out on either side, vast as the thigh of a strong man. 

With lionlike wrinkles of attention between his eyes, he listened tothe exposition of the little man, and followed his movements withpatient submission--like a pupil to whom a great master has consentedto unfold the secrets of his brushwork; in such a manner did BullHunter drink in the words and the acts of Pete Reeve. And, indeed, where guns were the subject of conversation it would have been hard tofind a man more thoroughly equipped to pose as an expert than PeteReeve. That fleshless hand, all speed of motion as it whipped out thegun from the nerve and sinew, became an incredible ghost with theholster and the long, heavy Colt danced and flashed at his fingertipsas though it were a gilded shadow. 

As he worked he talked, and as he talked he strode constantly back andforth through the room with his light-falling, mincing steps. He grewexcited. He flushed. There came a thrill and a ring and a deepening ofthe voice. For the master was indeed talking of the secrets ofhis craft. 

A thousand men of the mountains and the cattle ranges, men who, forpersonal pride or for physical need, studied accuracy and speed ingunplay, would have paid untold prices to learn these secrets from thelips of the little man. To Bull Hunter the mysteries were revealed fornothing, freely, and drilled and drummed into him through the weeks ofhis convalescence; and still the lessons continued now that he washale and hearty once more--as the clean-swept platters from which heate three times a day gave evidence. 

"I've practiced, you admit, " said Bull in his slow voice, as PeteReeve came to a pause. "But I haven't got your way with a gun, Pete. You've got a genius for it. I don't blame you for laughing at me whenI try to get out my gun fast. I can shoot straight. That's because Ihaven't any nerves, as you say, but I'll never be able to get out agun as fast as a thought--the way you do. Fact is, Pete, I don't thinkfast, you know. "

"Shut up!" exploded Pete Reeve, who had been inwardly chafing withimpatience during the whole length of this speech. "Sometimes you talklike a fool, Bull, and this is one time!"

Bull shook his head. "My arms are too big, " he said sadly. "The musclegets in my way. I can feel it bind when I try to jerk out the gunfast. Better give up the job, Pete. I sure appreciate all the painsyou've taken with me--but I'll never be a gunfighter. "

Pete Reeve shook his head with a sigh and then dropped into a chair, growing suddenly inert. 

"No use, " he groaned. "All because you ain't got any confidence, Bull. " He leaned forward in his sudden way. "Know something? I beenkeeping it back, but now I'll tell you the straight of it. You'refaster with a gun right now than four men out of five!"

Bull gaped in amazement. 

"Fact!" cried Reeve. "You get it out slicker than most; and after it'sout, you shoot as straight as any man I've ever seen. Trouble is, youdon't appreciate yourself. You've had it drilled into you so long thatyou're stupid that now you believe it. All nonsense! You got more thana million have and you're fast right now on the draw. Once get hold ofhow important it is, and you'll keep trying. But you think it's only agame. You just play at it; you don't work! I wish you could have seenme when I was first practicing with a gun! I lived with it. Hoursevery day it was my companion, and right up to now, there ain't a daygoes by that I don't spend some time keeping on edge with my revolver. Bull, you'll have to do the same thing. You hear?"

He sprang up again. It was impossible for him to remain seated a longtime. 

"You think it don't mean much. Look here!"

The Colt flicked into his hand and lay trembling in his palm, and ashe talked, it shifted smoothly, as if of its own volition, forwardtoward his fingertips, backward, to the side, dropping out until itseemed about to fall, only to be caught with one finger through thetrigger-guard and spun up again. Always the heavy weapon was in motionas though some of the nervous spirit of Reeve had entered the heavymetal. It responded to his thoughts rather than to his muscles. BullHunter gazed enchanted. He was accustomed to forgetting himself andadmiring others. 

"Look here!" went on the little man. "Look at me. I weigh about ahundred and twenty. I'm skinny. I'm a runt. And look at you. Youweigh--heaven knows what! No fat, but all muscle from your head toyour feet. You're the strongest man that I've ever seen. Take me, I'mnot a coward; but you, Bull, you don't know what fear means. Well, there you are, without fear, and stronger than three strong men. You're pretty fast with a gun, and you shoot straight as a hawk looks. And still, if we stood face to face and went for our guns, I'd live;and you with your muscle would be dead, Bull. "

"I know, " Bull nodded. 

"That's what this gun means, " cried Pete. "This gun, and the fact thatI can get it out of the leather faster'n you do. Not very much faster. But by just as much quicker as it takes for an eyelid to wink. Thatain't much time, but it's enough time to mean life or death! That'sall! I'm not the only man that's faster'n you are. They's others. I'venever been beat to the draw, but they's some that's shot so close tome that it sounded like one gun going off--with a sort of a stammer. And any one of those men would of shot you dead, Bull, if you'd fought'em. Now, knowing that, tell me, are you going to keep practicing?"

"I'll keep tryin', Pete. But I'll never get much faster. You see, myarm--it's too big, too heavy. It gets in my way, handling a littlething like a revolver!"

Pete spun the big Colt and shoved it back into the holster soincredibly fast that the steel hissed against the leather. 

"There you go running yourself down, " he muttered. 

He began to pace the room again, biting his nether lip, and now andthen shooting side glances at Bull, glances partly guilty and partlyscornful. Presently he came to a halt. He had also come to a newresolution, one that cost him so much that beads of perspirationcame out on his forehead. 

"Bull, " he said gravely, "I'm going to tell you the secret. "

"You've told me a dozen already, " Bull sighed. "You've taught me howto swing the muzzle up, and not too far up, and how to lean backinstead of forward, and how to harden the arm muscles just as I pullthe trigger, and how to squeeze with the whole hand and keep my wriststiff, and how--"

"None of them things counts, " said Pete gravely, almost sadly, "compared to what I'm going to tell you. Stand up!"

It was plain that he was going to give something from the depths ofhis mind. The cost and importance of it made his eyes like steel anddrew his mouth to a thin, straight line. 

Bull Hunter arose; and as the great body unfolded and the legsstraightened, it seemed that he would never reach his full height. At length he stood, enormous, wide, towering. He was not a freak, but simply a perfectly proportioned man increased to a huge scale. 

Pete Reeve canted his head back and looked into the face of the giant. There was a momentary affectionate appreciation in his eye. Then hehardened his expression. 

"Let your arm hang loose. "

Bull Hunter obeyed. The hand came just above the holster that wasstrapped on his thigh. All these weeks Pete Reeve had kept him fromgoing an instant without that gun except when he slept. And even whenhe slept the gun had to be under his pillow. 

"Because it helps to have it near all the time, " Pete had explained. "It sort of soaks into your dreams. It's never out of your mind. Ithaunts you, like the face of the girl you love. You see!"

Bull Hunter did not see, but he had nodded humbly, after his fashion, and obeyed. Now, with his arm fallen loose at his side he peeredstudiously into the face of his master gunman and waited for thenext order. 

"Draw!"

The command was snapped out; Bull's gun whipped from the holster; andPete Reeve drew in the same instant, carelessly, his eyes watching themovement of Bull instead of paying heed and put his gun up again, butBull followed the example almost reluctantly. 

"Nearly beat you that time, Pete, " he exclaimed happily. "But maybeyou weren't half trying?"

"Beat me?" sneered Pete. "I wasn't half trying, but you didn't beatme. I shot you twice before you had your muzzle in line. I shot you inthe throat and through the teeth before your gun was ready. "

Bull, with a shrug of the massive shoulders, touched the mentionedplaces and looked with awe at the little man. 

"Now, listen!"

Bull grew tense. 

"Watch my draw!"

Pete did not put his hand near the butt of his weapon. He held his armout before him, dangling in the air. There was a convulsive moment. One could see the imaginary weapon shoot from the holster and becomelevel and rigid, pointed at its mark. 

"I've seen before--fast as my eye could go, " Bull sighed. 

"Look again, " said Pete, gritting his teeth with impatience. "Thistime I'm going so slow a cow could see and beat me. "

He made the same motion, but to an ordinary eye it was still as fastas light. Bull shook his head. 

"Idiot!" cried Pete, his voice jumping up the scale, flat and harshand piercing. "It's the wrist! Not the arm, but the--"

He stopped with an expression of dismay. Even now he regrettedrevealing the mystery, it seemed. But then he went on. 

"I found out quick that I couldn't beat a good gunman if I used theold methods. Practice makes perfect; they practiced as much as I did. So I studied the methods and the great idea come to me. They all usethe whole arm. Look at you! Your shoulder bulges up when you make thedraw, and you raise the whole arm. Matter of fact, you'd ought only touse your fingers. Not stir a muscle above the wrist. Now try!"

Bull tried--the gun did come clear of the holster. 

"No good, " he said gravely. "It's magic when you do it, Pete. It justmakes a fool of me. "

"Shut up and listen!" Pete said sharply. "I'm telling you a thingthat'll save your life some day!"

He drew a little closer. His emotion made him swell to a greaterstature, and he rose a little on tiptoe as if partly to make up forthe differences between their bulks. 

Bull obeyed. 

"Now start thinking. Start concentrating on that right hand. There'snothing else to your body. You see? You forget you got a muscle. There's three things in the world. You see? Just three things and nomore. There's your gun with a bullet in it; there's your hand that'sgoing to get the gun out; and there's your target--that doorknob, say!Keep on thinking. They ain't any more to your body. You're just a handand an eye. All your nerves are down there in that hand. They're allpiled down there. That hand is full of electricity. Don't let youreyes wander. Keep on concentrating. You're stocking the electricity inthat hand. When your hand moves, it'll be as fast as the jump of aspark! And when that hand moves, the gun is going to come out clean init. It's _got_ to come out with it! You hear? It's _got_ to! Yourfingertips catch under the butt; they flick up. They don't draw thegun; they throw it out of the holster; they pitch the muzzle up, andthe butt comes smack back against the palm of your hand. And in thesame part of a second you pull the trigger. You hear?"

He leaned forward, trembling from head to foot. The eyes of the bigman were beginning to narrow. 

"I hear; I understand!" he said through his teeth. 

"You don't pull the gun. You _think_ it out of the leather. And thenthe bullet hits the doorknob. You don't move your arm. Your armdoesn't exist. You're just a hand and a brain--thinking! And thatthought sends a bullet at the mark!" He leaped back. "Draw!"

There was a wink of light at the hip of Bull Hunter, and the gunroared. 

Instantly he cried out, alarmed, confused, ashamed. 

"I didn't mean to shoot, Pete. I'm a fool! I didn't mean to! It--Isort of couldn't help it. The--the trigger was just pulled without mywanting it to! Lord, what'll people think!"

But Pete Reeve had flung his arms around the big man as far as theywould go, and he hugged him in a hysteria of joy. Then he leaped back, dancing, throwing up his hands. 

"You done it!" he cried, his voice squeaking, hysterical. 

"I made a fool of myself, all right, " said Bull, bewildered by thisexhibition of joy where he had expected anger. 

"Fool nothing! Look at that knob!"

The doorknob was a smashed wreck, driven into the thick wood of thedoor by the heavy slug of the revolver. Footsteps were running up thestairs of the hotel. Pete Reeve ran to the door and flung it open. 

"It's all right, boys, " he called. "Cleaning a gun and it went off. Noharm done!"

CHAPTER 12

"And now, " said Pete Reeve, looking almost ruefully at his pupil, "with a little practice on that, they ain't a man in the world thatcould safely take a chance with you. I couldn't myself. "

"Pete!"

"I mean it, son. Not a man in the world. I was afraid all the time. Iwas afraid you didn't have that there electricity in you or whateverthey call it. I was afraid you had too much beef and not enoughnerves. But you haven't. And now that you have the knack, keeppracticing every day--thinking the gun out of the leather--that'sthe trick!"

Bull Hunter looked down to the gun with great, staring eyes, as thoughit was the first time in his life that he had seen the weapon. PeteReeve noted his expression and abruptly became silent, grinninghappily, for there was the dawn of a great discovery in the eyes ofthe big man. 

The gun was no longer a gun. It was a part of him. It was flesh of hisflesh. He had literally thought it out of the holster, and the reportof the weapon had startled him more than it had frightened anyone elsein the building. He looked in amazement down to the broad expanse ofhis right hand. It was trembling a little, as though, in fact, thathand were filled with electric currents. He closed his fingers aboutthe butt of the gun. At once the hand became steady as a rock. Hetoyed with the weapon in loosely opened fingers again, and it sliddeftly. It seemed impossible for it to fall into an awkward position. 

The voice of Pete Reeve came from a great distance. "And they's onlyone thing lacking to make you perfect--and that's to have to fightonce for your life and drop the other gent. After that happens--well, Pete Reeve will have a successor!"

How much that meant Bull Hunter very well knew. The terrible fame ofPete Reeve ran the length and the breadth of the mountains. Of courseBull did not for a moment dream that Pete meant what he said. It wasall figurative. It was said to fill him with self-confidence, but partof it was true. He was no longer the clumsy-handed Bull Hunter of themoment before. 

A great change had taken place. From that moment his very ways ofthinking would be different. He would be capable of less mistymovements of the mind. He would be capable of using his brain asfast as his hand acted. A tingle of new life, new possibilities wereopening before him. He had always accepted himself as a stupidlyhopeless burden in the world, a burden on his friends, useless, cloddish. Now he found that he had hopes. His own mind and body was anundiscovered country which he was just beginning to enter. What mightbe therein was worth a dream or two, and Bull Hunter straightway beganto dream, happily. That was a talent which he had always possessed insuperabundance. 

The brief remainder of the day passed quickly; and then just beforesupper time a stranger came to call on Pete Reeve. He was a tall, bonyfellow with straight-looking eyes and an imperious lift of his headwhen he addressed anyone. Manners was his name--Hugh Manners. When hewas introduced he ran his eyes unabashedly over the great bulk of BullHunter, and then promptly he turned his back on the big man andexcluded him from the heart of the conversation. It irritated Bullunwontedly. He discovered that he had changed a great deal from theold days at his uncle's shack when he was used to the scorn and theindifference of all men as a worthless and stupid hulk of flesh, withno mind worth considering, but he said nothing. Another great talentof Bull's was his ability to keep silent. 

Shortly after this they went down to the supper table. All through themeal Hugh Manners engaged Pete Reeve in soft, rapid-voicedconversation which was so nicely gauged as to range that Bull Hunterheard no more than murmurs. He seemed to have a great many importantthings to say to Pete, and he kept Pete nodding and listening with afrown of serious interest. At first Pete tried to make up for theinsolent neglect of his companion by drawing a word or two from Bullfrom time to time, but it was easy for Bull to see that Pete wished tohear his newfound friend hold forth. It hurt Bull, but he resignedhimself and drew out of the talk. 

After supper he went up to the room and found a book. There hadbeen little time for reading since he passed the first stages ofconvalescence from his wounds. Pete Reeve had kept him constantlyoccupied with gun work, and the hunger for print had been accumulatingin Bull. He started to satisfy it now beside the smoking lamp. Hehardly heard Pete and Hugh Manners enter the room and go out againonto the second story of the veranda on which their room opened. Fromtime to time the murmur of their voices came to him, but heregarded it not. 

It was only when he had lowered the book to muse over a strangesentence that his wandering eye was caught beyond the window by theflash of a falling star of unusual brilliance. It was so bright, indeed, that he crossed the room to look out at the sky, stepping verysoftly, for he had grown accustomed to lightening his footfall, andnow unconsciously the murmuring voices of the talkers made him movestealthily--not to steal upon them, but to keep from breaking in ontheir talk. But when he came to the door opening on the veranda thewords he heard banished all thought of falling stars. He listened, dazed. 

Pete Reeve had just broken into the steady flow of the newcomer'stalk. 

"It's no use, Hugh. I can't go, you see. I'm tied down here with thebig fellow. "

"Tied down?" thought Bull Hunter, and he winced. 

A curse, then, "Why don't you throw the big hulk over?"

"He ain't a hulk, " protested Pete somewhat sharply, and the heart ofBull warmed again. 

"Hush, " said Hugh Manners. "He'll be hearing. "

"No danger. He's at his books, and that means that he wouldn't hear acannon. That's his way. "

"He don't look like a book-learned gent, " said Hugh Manners with morerespect in his voice. 

"He don't look like a lot of things that he is, " said Pete. "I don'tknow what he is myself--except that he's the straightest, gentlest, kindest, simplest fellow that ever walked. "

Bull Hunter turned to escape from hearing this eulogy, but he darednot move for fear his retreat might be heard--and that would beimmensely embarrassing. 

"Just what he is I don't know, " said Pete again. "He doesn't knowhimself. He's had what you might call an extra-long childhood--that'swhy he's got that misty look in his eyes. "

"That fool look, " scoffed Hugh Manners. 

"You think so? I tell you, Manners, he's just waking up, and when he'sclear waked up he'll be a world-beater! You saw that doorknob?"

"Smashed? Yep. What of it?"

"He done it with a gun, standing clean across the room, with a flashdraw, shooting from the hip--and he made a clean center hit of it. "

Pete brought out these facts jerkily, one by one, piling oneextraordinary thing upon the other; and when he had finished, HughManners gasped. 

"I'm mighty glad, " he said, "that you told me that, I--I might of madesome mistake. "

"You'd sure've made an awful mistake if you tangle with him, Manners. Don't forget it. "

"Your work, I guess. "

"Partly, " said Pete modestly. "I speeded his draw up a bit, but he hadthe straight eye and the steady hand when I started with him. Hedidn't need much target practice--just the draw. "

"And he's really fast?"

"He's got my draw. "

That told volumes to Manners. 

"And why not take him in with us?" he asked, after a reverent pause. 

"Not that!" exclaimed Pete. "Besides, he couldn't ride and keep upwith us. He'd wear out three hosses a day with his weight. "

"Maybe we could find an extra-strong hoss. He ain't so big as to killa good strong hoss, Pete. I've seen a hoss that carried--"

"No good, " said Pete with decision. "I wouldn't even talk to him aboutour business. He don't guess it. He thinks that I'm--well, he don'thave any idea about how I make a living, that's all!"

"But how _will_ you make a living if you stick with him?"

"I dunno, " Pete sighed. "But I'm not going to turn him down. "

"But ain't you about used up your money?"

"It's pretty low. "

"And you're supporting him?"

"Sure. He ain't got a cent. "

Bull started. He had not thought of that matter at all, but it stoodto reason that Pete had expended a large sum on him. 

"Sponging?" said Manners cynically. 

"Don't talk about it that way, " said Pete uneasily. "He's like a bigkid. He don't think about those things. If I was broke, he'd give mehis last cent. "

"That's what you think. "

"Shut up, Manners. Bull is like--a cross between a son and a brother. "

"Pretty big of bone for your son, Pete. You'll have a hard timesupporting him, " and Manners chuckled. Then, more seriously, "You'remaking a fool of yourself, pardner. Throw this big hulk over and comeback--with me! They's loads of money staked out waiting for us!"

"Listen, " said Pete solemnly. "I'm going to tell you why I'll neverturn Bull Hunter down if I live to be a hundred! When I was a kid adirty trick was done me by old Bill Campbell. I waited all these yearstill a little while ago to get back at him. Then I found him andfought him. I didn't kill him, but I ruined him and sent him back tohis home tied on his hoss with a busted shoulder that he'll never beable to use again. His right shoulder, at that. "

There was a subdued exclamation from Manners, but Pete went on, "Seemshe was the uncle of this Bull; took Bull in when Bull was orphaned, because he had to, not because he wanted to, and he raised Bull up tobe a sort of general slave around the place. Well, when he comes backhome all shot up he tries to get his sons to take my trail, but theydidn't have the nerve. But Bull that they'd always looked down on fora big good-for-nothing hulk--Bull stepped out and took my trail onfoot and hit across the mountains in a storm, above the timberline!

"And he followed till he come up with me here where he found me injail, accused of a murder. Did he turn back? He didn't. He didn't wantthe law to hang me. He wanted to kill me with his own hands so's hecould go back home and hear his uncle call him a man and praise him alittle. That shows how simple he is. 

"Well, I'll cut a long story short. Bull scouted around, found outthat the sheriff had done the killing himself and just saddled theblame on me, and then he makes the sheriff confess, gets me out ofjail, and takes me out in the woods. 

"'Now, ' says he, 'you've got a gun, and I've got a gun, and I'm goingto kill you if I can. '

"No use arguing. He goes for his gun. I didn't want to kill a manwho'd saved my life. I tried to stop him with bullets. I shot himthrough the right arm and made him drop his gun. Then he charged mebarehanded!"

There was a gasp from Manners. 

"Barehanded, " repeated Pete. "That's the stuff that's in him! I shothim through the left leg. He pitched onto his face, and then hanged ifhe didn't get up on one arm and one leg and throw himself at me. Hegot that big arm of his around me. I couldn't do a thing. My gun wassqueezed between him and me. He started fumbling. Pretty soon he foundmy throat with them big gorilla fingers of his. I thought my lastminute had come. One squeeze would have smashed my windpipe--andgood-bye, Pete Reeve!

"But he wouldn't kill me. After I'd filled him full of lead, he let mego. After he had the advantage he wouldn't take it. " Pete choked. Heconcluded briefly, "He mighty near bled to death before I could getthe wounds bandaged, and then I stayed on here and nursed him. Matterof fact, Manners, he saved my life twice and that's why I'm tied tohim for life. Besides, between you and me, he means more to me thanthe rest of the world put together. "

"Listen, " said Manners, after a pause. "I see what you mean and I'lltell you what you got to do. That big boy will do anything you tellhim. He follers you with his eyes. Well, we'll find a hoss that willcarry him. I guarantee that. Then you put your game up to him, bestfoot forward, and he'll come with us. "

"Not in a thousand years, " said Pete with emotion. "That boy willnever go crooked if I can keep him straight. Do you know what he'sdone? Because his uncle and cousins tried to get me, he's sworn neverto see one of 'em again. He's given them up--his own flesh andblood--to follow me, and I'm going to stick to him. That's completeand final. "

"No, Pete, of all the fools--"

Bull waited to hear no more. He stole back to the table on the farside of the room sick at heart and sat down to think or try to think. 

The truth came to him slowly. Pete Reeve, whom he had taken as hisideal, was, as a matter of fact--he dared not think what! The blowshook him to the center. But he had been living on the charity ofReeve. He had been draining the resources of the generous fellow. And how would he ever be able to pay him back?

One thing was definite. He must put an end to any increase of theobligations. He must leave. 

The moment the thought came to him he tore a flyleaf out of the bookand wrote in his big, sprawling hand:

 _Dear Pete:_

 _I have to tell you that it has just occurred to me that you have been paying all the bills, and I've been paying none. That has to stop, and the only way for me to stop it is to go off all by myself. I hate to sneak away, but if I stay to say good-bye I know you'll argue me out of it because I'm no good at an argument. Good-bye and good luck, and remember that I'm not forgetting anything that has happened; that when I have enough money to pay you back I'm coming to find you if I have to travel all the way around the world. _

 _Your pardner, BULL_

That done, he paused a moment, tempted to tear up the little slip. Butthe original impulse prevailed. He put the paper on the table, pickedup his hat, and stole slowly from the room. 

CHAPTER 13

He went out the back door of the hotel so that few people might markhis leaving, and cut for the woods. Once in them, he changed hisdirection to the east, heading for the lower, rolling hills in thatdirection. He turned back when the lights of the town had drawn intoone small, glimmering ray. Then this, too, went out, and with it thepain of leaving Pete Reeve became acute. He felt lost and alone, thatkeen mind had guided him so long. As he stalked along with the greatswinging strides through the darkness, the holster rubbed on his thighand he remembered Pete. Truly he had come into the hands of Pete Reevea child, and he was leaving him as a man. 

The dawn found him forty miles away and still swinging strongly downthe winding road. It was better country now. The desert sand haddisappeared, and here the soil supported a good growth of grass thatwould fatten the cattle. It was a cheerful country in more ways thanthe greenness of the grass, however. There were no high mountains, buta continual smooth rolling of hills, so that the landscape varied withevery half-mile he traveled. And every now and then he had to jump arunlet of water that murmured across his trail. 

A pleasant country, a clear sky, and a cool wind touching at his face. The contentment of Bull Hunter increased with every step he took. Hehad diminished the sharpness of his hunger by taking up a few links ofhis belt, but he was glad when he saw smoke twisting over a hill andcame, on the other side, in view of a crossroads village. He fingeredthe few pieces of silver in his pocket. That would be enough forbreakfast, at least. 

It was enough; barely that and no more, for the long walk had made himravenous, and the keenness of his spirits served to put a razor edgeon an appetite which was already sharp. He began eating before theregular breakfast at the little hotel was ready. He ate while theother men were present. He was still eating when they left. 

"How much?" he said when he was done. 

His host scratched his head. 

"I figure three times a regular meal ought to be about it, " he said. "Even then it don't cover everything; but matter of fact, I'm ashamedto charge any more. "

His ruefulness changed to a grin when he had the money in his hand, and Bull Hunter rose from the table. 

"But you got something to feed, son, " he said. "You certainly gotsomething to feed. And--is what the boys are saying right?"

It came to Bull that while he sat at the table there had been manycurious glances directed toward him, and a humming whisper had passedaround the table more than once. But he was accustomed to these sideglances and murmurs, and he had paid no attention. Besides, food hadbeen before him. 

"I don't know. What do they say?"

"That you're Dunbar from the South--Hal Dunbar. "

"That's not my name, " said Bull. "My name is Hunter. "

"I guess they were wrong, " said the other. "Trouble is, every timeanybody sees a big man they say, 'There goes Hal Dunbar. ' But you'retoo big even to be Dunbar I reckon. "

He surveyed the bulk of Bull Hunter with admiring respect. Thispersonal survey embarrassed the big man. He would have withdrawn, buthis host followed with his conversation. 

"We know Dunbar is coming up this way, though. He sent the word on upthat he's going to come to ride Diablo. I guess you've heardabout Diablo?"

Bull averred that he had not, and his eyes went restlessly down theroad. It wove in long curves, delightfully white with the bordering ofgreen on either side. He could see it almost tossing among the far-offhills. Now was the time of all times for walking, and if Pete Reevestarted to trail him this morning, he would need to put as muchdistance behind him by night as his long legs could cover. But stillthe hotel proprietor hung beside him. He wanted to make the big mantalk. It was possible that there might be in him a story as big ashis body. 

"So you ain't heard of Diablo? Devil is the right name for him. Blackas night and meaner'n a mountain lion. That's Diablo. He's big enoughand strong enough to carry even you. Account of him being so strong, that's why Dunbar wants him. "

"Big enough and strong enough to carry me?" repeated Bull Hunter. 

He had had unfortunate experiences trying to ride horses. His weightcrushed down their quarters and made them walk with braced legs. To besure, that was up in the high mountains where the horses were littlemore than ponies. 

"Yep. Big enough. He's kind of a freak hoss, you see. Runs to almostseventeen hands, I've heard tell, though I ain't seen him. He's overto the Bridewell place yonder in the hills--along about fifteen milesby the road, I figure. He run till he was three without ever beingtaken up, and he got wild as a mustang. They never was good onmanaging on the Bridewell place, you see? And then when they tried tobreak him he started doing some breaking on his own account. They sayhe can jump about halfway to the sky and come down stiff-legged in away that snaps your neck near off. I seen young Huniker along about amonth after he tried to ride Diablo. Huniker was a pretty good rider, by all accounts, but he was sure a sick gent around hosses afterDiablo got through with him. Scared of a ten-year-old mare, Hunikerwas, after Diablo finished with him. Scott Porter tried him, too. Thatwas a fight! Lasted close onto an hour, they say, nip and tuck all theway. Diablo wasn't bucking all the time. No, he ain't that way. Hewaits in between spells till he's thought up something new to do. Andhe's always thinking, they say. But if he wasn't so mean he'd be awonderful hoss. Got a stride as long as from here to that shed, they say. "

He rambled on with a growing enthusiasm. 

"And think of a hoss like that being given away!"

"Given away?" said Bull with a sudden interest. 

And then he remembered that horses were outside of his educationentirely. 

He listened with gloomy attention while his host went on. "Yes, sir. Given away is what I said and given away is what I mean. Old ChickBridewell has kept him long enough, he says. He's tired of payingbuckaroos for getting busted up trying to ride that hoss. Man-eater, that's what he calls Diablo, and he wants to give the hoss away to thefirst man that can ride him. Hal Dunbar heard about it and sent upword that he was coming up to ride him. "

"He must be a brave man, " said Bull innocently. He had an immensecapacity for admiring others. 

"Brave?" The proprietor paused as though this had not occurred to himbefore. "Why, they ain't such a thing as fear in Hal Dunbar, I guess. But if he decides to ride Diablo, he'll ride him, well enough. He hashis way about things, Hal Dunbar does. "

The sketchy portrait impressed Bull Hunter greatly. "You know him, then?"

"How'd I be mistaking you for him if I knowed him? No, he lives waydown south, but they's a pile heard about him that's never seen him. "

For some reason the words of his host remained in the mind of Bull ashe went down the road that day. Oddly enough, he pictured man andhorse as being somewhat alike--Diablo vast and black and fierce, andHal Dunbar dark and huge and terrible of eye, also; which was proofenough that Bull Hunter was a good deal of a child. He cared lessabout the world as it was than for the world as it might be, and aslong as life gave him something to dream about, he did not care in theleast about the facts of existence. 

Another man would have been worried about the future; but Bull Hunterwent down the road with his swinging stride, perfectly at peace withhimself and with life. He had not enough money in his pocket to buy ameal, but he was not thinking so far ahead. 

It was still well before noon when he came in sight of the Bridewellplace. It varied not a whit from the typical ranch of that region, alow-built collection of sheds and arms sprawling around the ranchhouse itself. About the building was a far-flung network of corrals. Bull Hunter found his way among them and followed a sound ofhammering. He was well among the sheds when a great black stallionshot into view around a nearby corner, tossing his head and mane. Hewas pursued by a shrill voice crying, "Diablo! Hey! You old fool!Stand still ... It's me ... It's Tod!"

To the amazement of Bull Hunter, Diablo the Terrible, Diablo theman-killer, paused and reluctantly turned about, shaking his head asthough he did not wish to obey but was compelled by the force ofconscience. At once a bare-legged boy of ten came in sight, runningand shaking his fist angrily at the giant horse. Indeed, it was atremendous animal. Not the seventeen hands that the hotel proprietorhad described to Bull, but a full sixteen three, and so proudlyhigh-headed, so stout-muscled of body, so magnificently long andtapering of leg, that a wiser horseman than the hotelkeeper might haveput Diablo down for more than seventeen hands. 

Most tall horses are like tall men--they are freakish and malformed insome of their members; but Diablo was as trim as a pony. He had thehigh withers, the mightily sloped shoulders, and the short back of aweight carrier. And although at first glance his underpinning seemedtoo frail to bear the great mass of his weight or withstand the effortof his driving power of shoulders and deep, broad thighs, yet a closerreckoning made one aware of the comfortable dimensions of the cannonbone with all that this feature portended. Diablo carried his bulkwith the grace which comes of compacted power well in hand. 

Not that Bull Hunter analyzed the stallion in any such fashion. Hewas, literally, ignorant of horseflesh. But in spite of his ignorancethe long neck, not overfleshed, suggested length of stride and themighty girth meant wind beyond exhaustion and told of the great heartwithin. The points of an ordinary animal may be overlooked, but a greathorse speaks for himself in every language and to every man. He wascoal-black, this Diablo, except for the white stocking of his offforefoot; he was night-black, and so silken sleek that, as he turnedand pranced, flashes of light glimmered from shoulders to flanks. 

Bull Hunter stared in amazement that changed to appreciation, andappreciation that burst in one overpowering instant to the fullunderstanding of the beauty of the horse. Joy entered the heart of thebig man. He had looked on horses hitherto as pretty pictures perhaps, but useless to him. Here was an animal that could bear him like thewind wherever he would go. Here was a horse who could galloptirelessly under him all day and labor through the mountains, bearinghim as lightly as the cattle ponies bore ordinary men. The cumbersomefeeling of his own bulk, which usually weighed heavily on Bull, disappeared. He felt light of heart and light of limb. 

In the meantime the bare-legged boy had come to the side of the bighorse, still shrilling his anger. He stood under the lofty head of thestallion and shook his small fist into the face of Diablo theTerrible. And while Bull, quaking, expected to see the head torn fromthe shoulders of the child, Diablo pointed his ears and sniffed thefist of the boy inquisitively. 

In fact, this could not be the horse of which the hotelkeeper had toldhim, or perhaps he had been recently tamed and broken?

That, for some reason, made the heart of Bull Hunter sink. 

The boy now reached up and twisted his fingers into the mane of theblack. 

"Come along now. And if you pull away ag'in, you old fool, Diablo, I'll give you a thumping, I tell you. Git along!"

Diablo meekly lowered his head and made his step mincing to regulatehis gait to that of his tiny master. He was brought alongside a railfence. There he waited patiently while the boy climbed up to the toprail and then slid onto his back. Again Bull Hunter caught his breath. He expected to see the stallion leap into the air and snap the childhigh above his head with a single arching of his back, but there wasno such violent reaction. Diablo, indeed, turned his head with hisears flattened and bared his teeth, but it was only to snort at theknee of the boy. Plainly he was bluffing, if horses ever bluffed. Theboy carelessly dug his brown toes into the cheek of the great horseand shoved his head about. 

"Giddap, " he called. "Git along, Diablo!"

Diablo walked gently forward. 

"Hurry up! I ain't got all day!" And the boy thumped the giant withhis bare heels. 

Diablo broke into a trot as soft, as smooth flowing, as water passingover a smooth bed of sand. Bull ran to the corner of the shed andgaped after them until the pair slid around a corner and were gone. Instinctively he drew off his hat and gaped. 

He was startled back to himself by loud laughter nearby, and, lookingup, he saw an old fellow in overalls with a handful of nails and ahammer. He stood among a scattering of uprights which represented, apparently, the beginnings of the skeleton of a barn. Now he leanedagainst one of these uprights and indulged his mirth. Bull regardedhim mildly; he was used to being laughed at. 

CHAPTER 14

"That's the way they all do, " said the old man. "They all gape thesame fool way when they see Diablo the first time. "

"Is that the wild horse?" asked Bull in his gentle voice. "That's him. I s'pose after seeing Tod handle him, you'll want to try to ride himright off?"

Bull looked in the direction in which the horse had disappeared. Heswallowed a lump that had risen in his throat and shook hishead sadly. 

"Nope. You see, I dunno nothing about horses, really. "

The old man regarded him with a new and sudden interest. 

"Takes a wise man to call himself a fool, " he declared axiomatically. 

Bull took this dubious bit of praise as an invitation and came slowlycloser to the other. He had the child's way of eyeing a stranger withembarrassing steadiness at a first meeting and thereafter payinglittle attention to the face. He wrote the features down in his memoryand kept them at hand for reference, as it were. As he drew nearer, the old man grew distinctly serious, and when Bull was directly beforehim he gazed up into the face of Bull with distinct amazement. At adistance the big man did not seem so large because of the grace of hisproportions; when he was directly confronted, however, he seemed averitable giant. 

"By the Lord, you _are_ big. And who might you be, stranger?"

"My name's Charlie Hunter; though mostly folks call me just plainBull. "

"That's queer, " chuckled the other. "Well, glad to know you. I'mBridewell. "

They shook hands, and Bridewell noted the gentleness of the giant. Asa rule strong men are tempted to show their strength when they shakehands; Bridewell appreciated the modesty of Charlie Hunter. 

"And you didn't come to ride Diablo?"

"No. I just stopped in to see him. And--" Bull sighed profoundly. 

"I know. He gives even me a touch now and then, though I know what adevil he is!"

"Devil?" repeated Bull, astonished. "Why, he's as gentle as a kitten!"

"Because you seen Tod ride him?" Bridewell laughed. "That don't meannothing. Tod can bully him, sure. But just let a grown man come nearhim--with a saddle! That'll change things pretty pronto! You'll seethe finest little bit of boiled-down hell-raising that ever was! Thejingle of a pair of spurs is Diablo's idea of a drum--and he makes hischarge right off! Gentle? Huh!" The grunt was expressive. "And whatgood's a hoss if he can't be rode with a saddle?" He waved the subjectof Diablo into the distance. "They ain't any hope unless Hal Dunbarcan ride him. If he can't, I'll shoot the beast!"

"Shoot him?" echoed Bull Hunter. He took a pace back, and his big, boyish face clouded to a frown. "Not that, I guess!"

"Why not?" asked Bridewell, curious at the change in the big stranger. "Why not? What good is he?"

"Why--he's good just to look at. I'd keep him just for that. "

"And you can have him just for that--if you can manage to handle him. Want to try?"

Bull shook his head. "I don't know nothing about horses, " he confessedagain. He glanced at the skeleton of standing beams. "Building abarn, eh?"

"You wouldn't call it pitching hay or shoeing a hoss that I'm doing, Iguess, " said the old fellow crossly. "I'm fussing at building a barn, but a fine chance I got. I get all my timber here--look at that!"

He indicated the stacks of beams and lumber around him. 

"And then I get some men out of town to work with me on it. But theyget lonely. Don't like working on a ranch. Besides, they had a scrapwith me. I wouldn't have 'em loafing around the job. Rather have nohelp at all than have a loafer helping me. So they quit. Then I triedto get my cowhands to give me a lift, but they wouldn't touch ahammer. Specialists in cows is what they say they are, ding bust 'em!So here I am trying to do something and doing nothing. How can Ihandle a beam that it takes three men to lift?"

He illustrated by going to a stack of long and massive timbers andtugging at the end of one of them. He was able to raise that end onlya few inches. 

"You see?"

Bull nodded. 

"Suppose you give me the job handling the timbers?" he suggested. "Iain't much good with a hammer and nails, but I might managethe lifting. "

"All by yourself? One man?" he eyed the bulk of Bull hopefully for amoment, then the light faded from his face. "Nope, you couldn't raise'em. Not them joists yonder!"

"I think I could, " said Bull. 

Old Bridewell thrust out his jaw. He had been a combative man in hisyouth; and he still had the instinct of a fighter. 

"I got ten dollars, " he said, "that says you can't lift that beam andput her up on end! That one right there, that I tried to lift aminute ago!"

"All right, " Bull nodded. 

"You're on for the bet?" the old man chuckled gayly. "All right. Let'ssee you give a heave!"

Bull Hunter obediently stepped to the timber. It was a twelve footerof bulky dimensions, heavy wood not thoroughly seasoned. Yet he didnot approach one end of it. He laid his immense hands on the center ofit. Old Bridewell chuckled to himself softly as he watched; he wasbeginning to feel that the big stranger was a little simple-minded. His chuckling ceased when he saw the timber cant over on one edge. 

"Look out!" he called, for Bull had slipped his hand under the liftedside. "You'll get your fingers smashed plumb off that way. "

"I have to get a hold under it, you see, " explained Bull calmly, andso saying his knees sagged a little and when they straightened thetimber rose lightly in his hands and was placed on his shoulder. 

"Where'd you like to have it?" asked Bull. 

Bridewell rubbed his eyes. "Yonder, " he said faintly. 

Bull walked to the designated place, the great timber teetering up anddown, quivering with the jar of each stride. There he swung one end tothe ground and thrust the other up until it was erect. 

"Is this the way you want it?" said Bull. 

By this time Bridewell had recovered his self-possession to somedegree, yet his eyes were wide as he approached. 

"Yep. Just let it lean agin' that corner piece, will you, Hunter?"

Bull obeyed. 

"That might make a fellow's shoulder sort of sore, " he remarked, "ifhe had to carry those timbers all day. "

"All day?" gasped Bridewell, and then he saw that the giant, indeed, was not even panting from his effort. He was already turning hisattention to the pile of timbers. 

"Here, " he said, reluctantly drawing out some money. "Here's yourten. "

But Bull refused it. "Can't take it, " he explained. "I just made thebet by way of talk. You see, I knew I could lift it; and you didn'thave any real idea about me. Besides, if I'd lost I couldn't havepaid. I haven't any money. "

He said this so gravely and simply that old Bridewell watched himquizzically, half suspecting that there was a touch of irony hiddensomewhere. It gradually dawned on him that a man who was flat brokewas refusing money which he had won fairly on a bet. The ideastaggered Bridewell. He was within an ace of putting Bull Hunter downas a fool. Something held him back, through some underlying respectfor the physical might of the big man and a respect, also, for thehonesty which looked out of his eyes. He pocketed the money slowly. Hewas never averse to saving. 

"But I've been thinking, " said Bull, as he sadly watched the moneydisappear, "that you might be needing me to help you put up the barn?Do you think you could hire me?"

"H'm, " grumbled Bridewell. "You think you could handle these bigtimbers all day?"

"Yes, " said Bull, "if none of 'em are any bigger than that last one. Yes, I could handle 'em all day easily. "

It was impossible to doubt that he said this judiciously and not witha desire to overstate his powers. In spite of himself the oldrancher believed. 

"You see, " explained Bull eagerly, "you said that you needed three menfor that work. That's why I ask. "

"And I suppose you'd want the pay of three men?"

Bull shook his head. "Anything you want to pay me, " he declared. 

The rancher frowned. This sounded like the beginning of a shrewdbargain, and his respect and suspicion were equally increased. 

"Suppose you say what you want?" he asked. 

"Well, " Bull said slowly, "I'd have to have a place to sleep. And--I'ma pretty big eater. "

"I guess you are, " said Bridewell. "But if you do three men's work yougot a right to three men's food. What else do you want?"

Bull considered, as though there were few other wishes that he couldexpress. "I haven't any money, " he apologized. "D'you think maybe youcould pay me a little something outside of food and a place to sleep?"

Bridewell blinked, and then prepared himself to become angry, when itdawned on him that this was not intended for sarcasm. He found thatBull was searching his face eagerly, as though he feared that he wereasking too much. 

"What would do you?" suggested Bridewell tentatively. 

"I dunno, " said Bull, sighing with relief. "Anything you think. "

It was plain that the big man was half-witted--or nearly so. Bridewellkept the sparkle of exultation out of his eyes. 

"You leave it to me, then, and I'll do what's more'n right by you. When d'you want to start work?"

"Right now. "

CHAPTER 15

When Bull left the dining room that night after supper, Mrs. Bridewelllooked across the table at her husband with horror in her eyes. 

"Did you see?" she gasped. "He ate the _whole_ pot of beans!"

"Sure I seen him, " and he grinned. 

"But--he'll eat us out of house and home! Why, he's like a wolf!"

Bridewell chuckled with superior knowledge. "He's ate enough forthree, " he admitted, "but he's worked enough for six--besides, most ofhis wages come in food. But work? I never seen anything like it! Hehandled more timbers than a dozen. When it come to spiking them inplace he seen me swinging that twelve-pound sledge and near breakingmy back. 'I think it's easier this way, ' he says. 'Besides you can hita lot faster if you use just one hand. ' And he takes the hammer, andsends that big spike in all the way to the head with one lick. And hewondered why I didn't work the same way! Ain't got any idea howstrong he is. "

Mrs. Bridewell listened with wide eyes. "The idea, " she murmured. "Theidea! Where's he now?"

Her husband went to the back door. "He's sitting over by the pumptalking to Tod. Sitting talking like they was one age. I reckon he'ssort of half-witted. "

"How come?" sharply asked Mrs. Bridewell. "Ain't Tod got more brainsthan most growed-up men?"

"I reckon he has, " admitted the proud father. 

And if they had put the same question to Bull Hunter, the giant wouldhave agreed with them emphatically. He approached the child tamer ofDiablo with a diffidence that was almost reverence. The freckle-facedboy looked up from his whittling when the shadow of Bull fell athwarthim, with an equal admiration; also with suspicion, for thecowpunchers, on the whole, were apt to make game of the youngster andhis grave, grown-up ways. He was, therefore, shrewdly suspicious ofjests at his expense. 

Furthermore, he had seen the big stranger heaving the great timbersabout and whirling the sledge with one hand; he half suspected thatthe jokes might be pointed with the weight of that heavy hand. Hisamazement was accordingly great when he found the big man actuallysitting down beside him, cross-legged, and he was absolutely stupefiedwhen Bull Hunter said, "I've been aiming at this chance to talk toyou, Tod, all day. "

"H'm, " grunted Tod noncommittally, and examined the other with acautious side glance. 

But the face of Bull Hunter was unutterably free from guile. Todinstantly began to adjust himself. The men he most worshiped were thelean, swift, profanely formidable cowpunchers. But there was somethingin him that responded with a thrill to this accepted equality withsuch a man as Bull Hunter. Even his father he had seen stricken to anawed silence at the sight of Bull's prowess. 

"You see, " explained Bull frankly, "I been wondering how you managedto handle Diablo the way you do. "

Tod chuckled. "It's just a trick. You watch me a while with him, you'll soon catch on. "

But Bull shook his head as he answered, "Maybe a mighty bright manmight figure it out, but I'm not good at figuring things out, Tod. "

The boy blinked. He was accustomed to the studied understatement ofthe cowpunchers and he was accustomed, also, to their real vanitywhich underlay the surface shyness. But it was patent that BullHunter, in spite of his size, was truly humble. This conception wasnew to Tod and slowly grew in his brain. His active eyes ran over thebulk beside him; he almost pitied the giant. 

"Besides, " pondered Bull heavily, "I guess there's a whole lot ofbright men that have seen you handle Diablo, but they couldn't makeout what you did. They tried to ride Diablo and got their necks nearlybroken. They were good riders, but I'm not. You see, Diablo's thefirst horse I've ever seen that could really carry me. " He addedapologetically, "I'm so heavy. "

No vanity, certainly. He gestured toward himself as though he wereashamed of his brawn, and the heart of Tod warmed and expanded. Hehimself would never be large, and his heart had ached because of hissmallness many a time. 

"Yep, " he said judiciously, "you're pretty heavy. About the heaviest Iever seen, I guess. Maybe Hal Dunbar is as big, but I never seen Hal. "

"I've heard a good deal about Hal, but--"

He stopped short and stiffened. Tod saw that the eyes of the big manhad fixed on the corral in which stood Diablo. A puff of wind hadcome, and the great black had thrown up his head into it, an imposingpicture with mane and tail blown sidewise. Not until the stallionturned away from the unseen thing which he had scented in the wind, did Bull turn to his small companion with a sigh. 

Tod nodded, his eyes glinting. "I know, " he said. "I used to feel thatway--before I learned how to handle Diablo. " He interpreted, "You feellike it'd be pretty fine to get onto Diablo's back and have him gallopunder you. "

"About the finest thing in the world, " sighed Bull Hunter. He cast outhis great hands before him as he tried to explain the mysteriousemotions which the horse had excited in him. "You see, Tod, I'm prettybig and I'm pretty slow. Most folks have horses, and they get aboutpretty lively on 'em, but I've always had to walk. "

The enormity of this lack made Tod stare, for travel and horses wereinseparably connected in his mind. He shuddered a little at thethought of the big man stalking across the burning and interminablesands of the desert or toiling through the mountains. It seemed to himthat he could see the signs of that pain stamped in the face of BullHunter, and his heart leaped again in sympathy. 

"So when I saw Diablo--" Bull paused. But Tod had understood. Suddenlythe boy became excited. 

"Suppose you was to learn to ride Diablo before Hal Dunbar come to tryhim out? Suppose that?"

"Could you teach me?" the giant asked in an almost awed whisper. 

The child looked over his companion with a vague wonder. It would be atremendous responsibility, this teaching of the giant, but what couldbe more spectacular than to have such a man as his pupil? But to sharehis unique empire over Diablo--that would be a great price to pay!

"No, " he decided, "it wouldn't do. Besides, suppose even I _could_teach you how to ride Diablo--with a saddle, which I don't think Icould--what would happen when Hal Dunbar come up to these parts andfound that the hoss he wanted was somebody else's? He'd make an awfulfuss--and he's a fighting man, Bull. "

He said this impressively, leaning a little toward the giant, and hewas rewarded infinitely by seeing the right hand of the giant stir alittle toward the holster at his thigh. 

"I guess I'd have to take my chance with him, " was all Bull answeredin his mildest tone. 

Tod was beginning to guess that there was a certain amount of mentalstrength under this quiet exterior. He had often noted that hisfather, who made by far the most noise, was more easily placated thanhis mother, in spite of her gentle silences. The strength of BullHunter had a strain of the same thing about it. 

"You'd take a chance with Hal Dunbar?" he repeated wonderingly. Hetrembled a little, with a sort of nervous ecstasy at the thought ofthat coming encounter. "That's more'n anybody else in these partswould do. Why, everybody's heard about Hal Dunbar. Everybody's scaredof him. He can ride anything that's big enough to carry him; he canfight like a wildcat with his hands; and he can shoot like"--his eyewandered toward a superlative--"like Pete Reeve, almost, " he concludedwith a tone of awe. 

A spark of tenderness shone in the eye of Bull. "D'you know PeteReeve?"

"No, and I don't want to. Ma had a brother once, and he met up withPete Reeve. "

A tragedy was inferred in that oblique reference. Bull decided thatthis was a conversational topic on which he must remain silent, andyet he yearned to speak of the little withered catlike fellow with thewise brain who had done so much for him. 

"When I'm big enough, " mused the boy with a quiet savagery, "maybeI'll meet up with Pete Reeve. "

Bull switched the talk to a more comfortable topic. "But how'd youmake a start with that man-eating Diablo?"

Tod studied, the question. "I got a way with hosses, you see, " hebegan modestly. 

He played two brown fingers in his mouth and sent out a shrillingwhistle that was answered immediately by a whinny, and a littlechestnut gelding, sun-faded to a sand color nearly, cantered into viewaround the corner of a shed and approached them. He came to a pausenearby, and having studied Bull Hunter with large, unafraid, curiouseyes for a moment, began to nibble impertinently at the ragged hatbrim of the child. 

"Git away!" exclaimed Tod, and when the chestnut made no move to go, the brown fist flashed up at the reaching head. But the head wasjerked away with a motion of catlike deftness. 

"He's a terrible bother, Crackajack is, " said the boy angrily, andfrom the corner of his eye he stole a glance of unspeakable pride atthe big man. 

"He's a beauty, " exclaimed Bull Hunter. "A regular beauty!"

For Crackajack combined the toughness of a mustang and the lean, strong running lines of a thoroughbred in miniature. His legs were asdelicately made as the legs of a deer; his head was a little model ofimpish intelligence and beauty. 

"You and Crackajack are pals, " said Bull. "I guess that's what youare!"

"We get on tolerable well, " admitted the boy, whose heart was fullwith this praise of his pet. 

Bull continued on the agreeable topic. "And I'll bet he's fast, too. He looks like speed to me!"

"Maybe you don't know hosses, but you sure got hoss sense. " Todchuckled. "Most folks take Crackajack for a toy pony. He ain't. I'veseen him carry a full-grown man all day and keep up with the best of'em. He don't mind the weight of me no more'n if I was a feather. He'sfast, he's tough, and he knows more'n a hoss should know, youmight say!"

He changed his voice, and a brief command made Crackajack give up histeasing and retreat. Bull watched the exquisite little creature go, with a smile of pleasure. He did not know it, but that smile unlockedthe last door to Tod's heart. 

"He was pretty near as wild as Diablo when I first got him, " said theboy. "And mean--say, he'd been kicked around all his life. But Ifatted him up in the barn, and he got so's he'd follow me around. Andnow he runs loose like a dog and comes when I whistle. He knows morethings than you could shake a stick at, Crackajack does. " "I'll bet hedoes, " said Bull with shining eyes. 

"Say, " said the boy suddenly, "I'm going to tell you about the way Iworked with Diablo. "

"I'll take that mighty kind, " said Bull gratefully. "D'you think I'dhave a chance with him even if you showed me how?"

"You got to have a way with hosses, " admitted the boy, and he examinedBull again. "But I think you'll get on with hossflesh pretty well. When Diablo first come, he used to go plumb crazy when anybody comenear his corral. He still does if a growed man comes there. Well, theyused to go out and stand and watch him and laugh at him prancingaround and kicking up a fuss at the sight of 'em. 

"And it made me mad. Made me plumb mad to see them bother Diablo whenhe wasn't doing no harm, when they wasn't gaining anything byit, either. "

"I used to go out when nobody was around and stand by the bars with abit of hay and grain heads in my hand. First off he'd prance aroundeven at me, but pretty soon he seen that I wasn't big enough to do himno harm, and then he'd just stand still and snort and look at me. Along about the third time he took notice of the grain heads and comeand smelled them, and the next day he ate 'em. 

"Well, I kept at it that way. Pretty soon I went inside the corral. Diablo just come up sort of excited and trembling and didn't knowwhether to bash my head in with his forehoofs or let me go. Then heseen the grain heads and ate them while he was making up his mind whatto do about me. And he winded up by just having a little talk with me. He was terribly dirty and dusty, and he was shedding. Nobody dared tobrush him, and so I took a soft-haired brush and started to work onhis neck. He liked it, and so I dressed him down and left him prettynear shining. And every day after that I went and had a talk with himand brushed him. Then I rode Crackajack up to the bars and let Diablosee me on him, with no bridle or saddle. Pretty soon I found out thatit was the saddle and the bridle and the spurs that scared Diablo todeath. He didn't mind anything else so very much. So one day I climbedup the fence and slid onto Diablo's back, and he just turned his headand snorted at me. Just then Pa seen me and let out a terrible yell, and Diablo pitched me right off over his head and over the fence. ButI got right up and came back to him. He seen that he could get me offwhenever he wanted to and he seen that I didn't do him no harm whenI got on. 

"After that everything was easy. I never bothered him none with asaddle or a bridle. And there you are. D'you think you can dothe same?"

"But the saddle and the bridle?" said Bull. "What about them?"

"That's up to you to figure out a way of getting him used to 'em. I'llgo introduce you now, if I can. "

Bull rose, and the boy led the way. 

"If he takes to you pretty kind, " said the boy, "you may have achance. But if he begins acting up, it won't be no use. "

CHAPTER 16

Diablo greeted them with a throwing up of his formidable head. He tookhis place in the very middle of his corral, but when Bull Hunter andhis small guide reached the bars, the black stallion seemed to gosuddenly mad. He flung himself into the air and came down bucking. Back and forth across the corral he threw himself in the wildest swirlof pitching that Bull Hunter had ever seen or ever dreamed of. 

"He's an educated bucker, you see?" said the boy in admiration. "Theyain't any trick that he don't know. Look!"

Diablo had begun to sunfish in the most approved method, and swirledfrom this to some fence rowing as swift as the jagged course oflightning. At every jump Bull could see an imaginary rider snappedfrom the back of the black giant. A cloud of dust was sent swishingup, and in the midst of this fog, Diablo came to a pause as sudden asthe beginning of his strange struggle against an imaginary foeman; butit seemed to Bull Hunter that the ground beneath his feet was stillquivering from the impacts of that mighty body. 

"That's just his way of telling you what he'll do when you try tosaddle him, " chuckled the boy. 

As he spoke he slipped through the bars of the corral. 

"Look out!" exclaimed Bull in horror, for the stallion had rushed atthe small intruder with gaping mouth. Bull reached for his gun--Diablowas already on the child, but at the last minute he swerved, andflashed around Tod in a circle. 

"He's all right, " Tod was shrilling through his laughter, for thehorrified face of Bull amused him. "That's just his way of saying thathe's glad to see me!"

In fact, Diablo came to a sudden halt directly behind the child, hishead towering aloft above that of Tod while he flashed his defiance atBull Hunter, as though he were making use of the small bulwark of Todagainst the stranger. 

"Diablo, you old fool, " the boy was saying, as he reached up andmanaged to wind his fingers in the end of Diablo's mane, "you comealong and meet my friend, Bull Hunter. I figure you're going to get toknow him pretty good before long. Hey, Bull, come up close to the barsso's he can see you ain't got a rope or a whip or spurs, and stickyour hand out so's he can sniff at it. That's his way of sayinghow d'ye do. "

Bull obeyed, and to his amazement, Diablo responded to the smallforward urge of the child's hand and approached the bars one tremblingstep at a time. Bull began to talk to him softly. He had never talkedlike this to any living creature. He did not know exactly what hesaid. The words came of their own accord into his throat. He only knewthat he wanted to reassure the big, powerful, uncertain brute, andthough Diablo stopped short at the first sound of Bull's voice andlaid his ears back, he presently pricked one of those ears again andallowed himself to be drawn forward with long, crouching strides. 

"That's the way!" said the child softly, as though he feared that aloud voice might break in upon the spell. "You know how to talk tohim! And, outside of me, you're the only one that does! I knew you'dhave it in you!"

For Diablo had extended his long neck and actually sniffed the hand ofBull Hunter. He immediately tossed his head aloft, but he did notflinch away. 

"That's half the fight won already, " advised the boy in the same softvoice. "D'you want to try the saddle on him now?"

"The saddle? Now?" exclaimed Bull. "I should say not! Why, he don'thardly know me; I'll have to get acquainted before I try anythinglike that. "

He discovered that Tod was nodding in hearty approval. 

"You do know, " he said. "Don't tell me that you ain't been aroundhosses a pile. Yep, you got to get acquainted. What you want todo now?"

Bull considered. "I'd like to have something to show him that it isn'tunpleasant having me around. I'd like to have him see some goodresults, you know? Is there anything I could feed him?"

The boy chuckled. "Best thing is some dried prunes with the pits takenout of 'em. I have some at the house. They get stuck in Diablo's teethand it's sure funny to see him eat 'em. But he just nacherally plumblikes the taste of the prunes. "

He followed his own suggestion by scampering away to the house andreturned almost at once with a hat full of the prunes. 

"You want to feed him these now?"

"First, " said Bull, "I'd like to have you leave us alone. If I can'tteach him to like me all by myself, then I'd better give upright away. "

The boy looked at him in surprise and then impulsively stretched outhis hand. They shook hands gravely. 

"You got the right idea, pardner, " said Tod. "Go ahead--and good luck!And keep talking to him all the time. That's the main thing!"

He retreated accordingly, but before the evening was over, Bullregretted dismissing his little ally so quickly, for although Diabloindulged in no more threatening outbreaks of temper, he resolutelyrefused to eat the prunes from Bull's hand. Several times heapproached the bars of the corral and the patiently extended hand, butalways he drew back, snorting, and sometimes he would run around thecorral, shaking his head and throwing up his heels after the manner ofa horse tempted but still afraid of being overruled. 

It was long after dark when Bull gave up the attempt. He went back tothe bunkhouse, rolled up the blankets which had been assigned to him, and carried them out to the corral. Close to the fence he laid themdown, and a few minutes later he was wrapped in them and sound asleep. The last thing he remembered was the form of the great stallion, standing watchfully in the exact middle of the corral, the starlightglimmering very faintly in his big eyes. 

Bull Hunter fell asleep and had a nightmare of the arrival of thefamous Hal Dunbar the next day, a fierce conquest of Diablo, and thebattle ending with the departure of Dunbar on the back ofthe stallion. 

The dream waked him, nervous, and he turned and saw Diablo standinghuge and formidable in the darkness, as though he had not moved fromhis first position. 

In the morning the arduous labors of the building began again, andthough the prodigious appetite of Bull at the breakfast table madeeven old Bridewell look askance, Bull had not been at work an hourhandling the ponderous uprights and joists before his employer wassmiling to himself. His new hand was certainly worth his keep, andmore, for weariness seemed a stranger to that big body, and no weightwas too great to be cheerily assumed. And always he worked with a sortof nervous anxiety as though he feared that he might not bedoing enough. 

During the day Bridewell attempted to probe the past history of hishired man, expecting a story as big as the body of the man, but Bullwas discreetly vague, for he had no wish to reveal his connection withPete Reeve; and if he left out Reeve, he felt that there was nothingin his life worth talking about. Many a time he wondered what thelittle gunfighter was doing, and what trail he was riding now. Adangerous trail, he doubted not, and a lawless trail, he greatlyfeared. But someday he might be able to find the terrible little manand bring him back to a truer place in society. 

That night he began again the long, quiet struggle with Diablo; andbefore he ended, Diablo had gathered some of the dried fruit from thepalm of his hand with a sensitive, trembling pair of lips. And he hadcome back for more, and more. Yet it was not until the next night thatBull ventured inside the bars of the corral and sat cross-legged onthe ground, with a vague feeling that Diablo would be less alarmed ifhis visitor bulked less large. 

Inside the bars he seemed an entirely new proposition to the stallion. The big black kept discreetly on the far side of the corral with muchsnorting and stamping, and it was not until the next evening that heventured to approach the man. Still another day passed before Bull wasallowed to stand and touch the neck of the black; and that, it seemedto him, was the greatest forward step toward the conquest. 

It was terribly slow work, and in the meantime the skeleton frame ofthe barn was fast rising. Would he accomplish his purpose by the timethe barn was completed and Bridewell no longer had a use for him? Orwould Hal Dunbar arrive before that appointed time? That night, however, another portentous event happened. Waking in the night, Bullheard a sound of deep, regular breathing close to him, and, turning onhis side, he saw that Diablo had lain down as close to him as thecorral fence would allow, and there he slept, panther-black, sleek inthe starlight. Bull stretched out his hand. The head of the stallionjerked up, but a moment later he carelessly sniffed the extendedfingers and resumed his position of repose. And the heart of BullHunter swelled with triumph. 

That event gave him a new idea, and the following evening he made agroundwork of branches in the corner of the corral itself, and putdown his blankets on the evergreens. Diablo was much concerned andwalked about examining the new work from every angle. There Bullslept, and the next night he found that during the day the stallionhad torn the boughs to pieces and scattered them about. He patientlylaid a new foundation, and after this the bed was left strictly alone. 

In the meantime Bull had made a light, strong halter of rawhide, andafter several attempts he managed to slip it onto the head of Diablo. Once in place, it was easy to teach Diablo that he must follow when hefelt a pull on the halter--the first steps were rewarded with driedprunes, and after that it was simple. 

On that evening, also, Bull made his next step forward toward the mostdifficult proposition of all--he took a partly filled barley sack andput it on the back of Diablo. The next moment the sack was shot intothe air as Diablo leaped up and arched his back like a cat at theheight of his leap. He came down trembling and snorting, but Bullpicked up the fallen sack and allowed him to smell it. Diablo foundthat the smell was good and that the hateful sack even containedthings very good to eat. The next time the sack was put on his back hequivered and shrank, but he did not buck it off. 

After that, Bull spent his evenings in gradually increasing the weightof that sack until a full hundred pounds caused Diablo no worrywhatever, and when this point had been attained, Bull decided that hemight venture his own bulk on the back of Diablo. He confided hispurpose to Tod, and the boy, greatly excited, hid himself at adistance to watch. 

In the beginning it was deceptively easy. Diablo stood perfectlyunconcerned as Bull raised himself on the bars of the fence. And whenthe long legs of Bull were passed over his back, Diablo merely turnedhis head and sniffed the shoe tentatively. Slowly, very softly, steadying himself on the top bar of the fence, Bull lowered his weightmore and more until the whole burden was on the back of thestallion--and then he took his hands from the top rail. 

But the moment he released that grip there was a change in Diablo, asthough he realized that the man had suddenly trusted himself entirelyto his mount. Bull felt a sudden wincing of all that great body; thequarters sank and trembled. He thought at first that it was becausethe horse was failing under the weight of this ponderous burden; butinstinct told him a moment later that it was fear, and a mixture ofsuspicious anger. 

Diablo took one of his long, catlike steps, and paused withoutbringing up his other foot. In vain Bull spoke to him, softly, steadily. Diablo took another step, quickened to a soft trot, andstopped suddenly. That weight on his back failed to leave him. Hebegan to tremble violently. Bull felt the sudden thundering of thegreat heart beneath the pressure of his knee. 

To the stallion, this man had been a friend, a constant companion. Thetouch of his hand was pleasant. Pleasanter still was the continualdeep murmur of the voice, reassuring, telling him of a superior andguardian mind looking out for his interests. Now that hand wasstroking his sleek neck and that voice was steadily in his ear. Butthe position was the most hated one. To be sure, there was no saddle, no cutting, binding cinch, no drag of cruel Spanish curb to controlhis head, no tearing spurs to threaten him. But his flanks twitchedwhere the spurs had dug in many a time, and he panted, remembering thecinches. Those memories built up a panic. He became unsure. The voicereached him less distinctly. Moreover it was a strange time of theevening. The light of the day was nearly done; the moon was barely up, and all things were ghostly and unreal in that slant light. 

Something of all that went through the mind of Diablo was understoodby Bull Hunter. It was telegraphed to him by the twitching andvibration of great muscles, by the stiff arching of the neck, and thesnorting breathing. But he was beginning to forget fear. The stalliondanced lightly forward, and as the wind struck the face of Bull Hunterhe suddenly rejoiced. This was what he had dreamed of, to be carriedthus lightly, easily. The weight that had crushed other horses wasnothing to Diablo. It made him feel buoyant. He became tinglinglyalert. On the back of Diablo not a horse of the mountains couldovertake him if he fled; and not a man of the mountains could escapehim if he pursued on the back of the stallion. 

That thought had hardly formed in his excited mind when Diablo sprang, cat-footed, to one side. It made Bull Hunter sway, and he naturallysought to preserve his balance by gripping the powerful barrel of thehorse with his knees. But at the first touch of the knee Diablo wentsuddenly mad. Exactly what he did Bull Hunter never knew. Indeed, itseemed that Diablo left his feet, shot a dizzy height into the air, and at the crest of his rise did three or four things at once. At anyrate, as the stallion landed, Bull pitched from the arched back andhurtled forward and to the right side. He landed heavily against theground, his head striking a small rock; and he lay there amoment, stunned. 

Far off he heard Tod shrilling at him, "Bull! Are you hurt?"

He gathered himself together and arose, "I'm all right. Stay where youare!"

"Don't try him again. He'll kill you, Bull!"

"Maybe. But I'm going to try. "

Diablo stood on the far side of the corral in the moonlight, asplendid figure with haughty tail and head. Inwardly he was trembling, enraged. He knew what would come. He had thrown men before, andusually he had tried to batter them to pieces after they fell. Thisman he had no desire to batter. There had been no saddle, no bridle, no spurs, no quirt--nevertheless, he must not be controlled by thehand of any man! But having thrown the fellow, now other men would runon him, swinging the accursed ropes over their heads, shouting, cursing at him in strident voices. Vitally he yearned to break throughthe bars of the corral and flee, but the bars were there and he muststay in the inclosure with this friendly enemy. It was not theprostrate man he feared so much as vengeance from other men, for thathad always been the way. 

But no one came. No shouts were heard except from the small, thin, familiar voice of Tod. And presently the giant arose from the groundwhere he had fallen and came toward him. Diablo flattened his earsexpectantly. At the first throat-tearing curse he would charge. But nocurse came. The man approached, as always, with extended hand, and thevoice was the smooth, gentle murmur that carries peace into theshadowy mind of a horse. 

Something relaxed in Diablo. If the man did not resent being thrownoff--if that were a sort of game, as it were--why should he, Diablo, resent having the man on his back? The hand touched his nose gently;another hand was stroking his neck. 

Presently he was led to the fence and again that heavy weight slidonto his back. He crouched again, with waves of blind panic surging upin him, but the panic did not master his sense this time, and as hisbrain cleared he began to discover that there was no urging, no willof another imposed upon him. He could walk where he pleased, followinghis own sweet will, or else he could stand still. It made nodifference; but the soft-touching hand and the deep, quiet voice wereassuring him that the man was glad to be up there on his back. 

Diablo turned his head. One ear quivered and came forward tentatively;then the other. He had accepted Bull Hunter. 

Afterward Bull found Tod. The boy wrung his hand ecstatically. 

"That's what I call game!" he said. 

"Why, Tod, " the big man smiled, "you did the same thing. "

"He knew I was nothing. But you're a growed man. But--what's this, Bull? Your back's all wet. "

"It's nothing much, " said Bull calmly. "When I fell, my head hit astone. There's some things worth paying for, and Diablo's oneof them. "

CHAPTER 17

The cut proved, as he had said, to be a small thing; but it turned outthat Diablo was far from won. He was haltered and he would carry Bullbareback. The saddle was quite another affair. So Bull returned to theidea of the barley sack, with gradual additions. On each side of thesack he attached hanging straps. Diablo snorted at these and triedthem with his teeth. They reminded him vaguely of the swingingstirrups that had so often battered his tender sides. He discoveredthat the straps were not alive, however, and were not harmful. Andwhen their length was increased and an uncovered stirrup was tied oneach side, he gradually became accustomed to these also. The nextstage was passing the straps under his belly. They were tied thereloosely, the circle was completed, and Diablo, examining themcritically, found nothing wrong. Then, a dozen times in a singleevening, the straps were drawn up, tighter and tighter, until theytouched him. At this he became excited, and it required all theresourcefulness of Bull to quiet him. But in three days the barleysack and its queer-looking additions had been changed for a truesaddle--with the cinches drawn up tight enough for riding. And thiswithout eliciting a single bucking spasm from Diablo!

Not even to Tod did Bull Hunter impart his great tidings. He had notyet climbed into that real saddle; Diablo had not yet heard the creakof the stirrup leathers under the weight of his rider. Indeed, therewas still much to be done before the happy day when he saddled theblack stallion and took down the bars of the corral gate and rode himout. And rode him without a bit! For on the point of steel in themouth of Diablo, Bull Hunter knew that the horse would be against itresolutely. So he confined himself to a light hackamore alone. Thatwas enough, for Diablo had learned to rein over the neck and stop atthe slightest pull of the reins. 

The next morning he went out to his work with a light heart. They hadhad the help of several new men during the past ten days and now theframe of the roof was almost completed. It would not be long beforeBull's services could be dispensed with and he connected the idea ofthe completion of the barn in a symbolic fashion with the completionof his conquest of the stallion. The two would be accomplished in thesame moment, as it were. No wonder, then, that as he climbed theladder up the side of the barn, with the ladder quaking beneath hisweight, Bull Hunter began to sing, his thundering bass ringing amongthe ranch buildings until Mrs. Bridewell opened the kitchen window tohear the better, and old Bridewell stopped his ears in mock dismay atthe thunder of Bull's voice. 

But the work was not two hours old when little Tod scampered up to hisside. 

"Bull, " he whispered, "Hal Dunbar is down yonder with a couple of men. He's come to ride Diablo. What'll we do, Bull? What'll we do?"

"Diablo will throw him, " said Bull with conviction. 

"But he won't. He can't, " stammered the boy in his excitement. "Nothing could throw Hal Dunbar. Wait till you see him! Just you waittill you see. Gee, Bull, he's as big as you and--"

The other qualifications were apparently too amazing to be adequatelydescribed by the vocabulary of Tod. 

"If any other man can ride Diablo, " said Bull at length, "I don'tthink I care about him so much. I've been figuring that I'm the onlyman who can get on his back. If somebody else can handle him, they'rewelcome to the horse as far as I'm concerned. "

"Are you going to let him go like that?" Tod was bitter with shame andanger. "After all our work, are you going to give him up withouta fight?"

"A fight would be a gunfight, and a gunfight ends up in a death, " saidBull gently. "I don't like bloodshed, Tod!"

The boy writhed. Here was an idol smashed with a vengeance!

"I might of knowed!" he groaned. "You ain't nothing but--but a bighulk!"

And he turned on his heel and gave the exciting news to his father. 

For an event of this caliber, Bridewell called down all his men fromthe building, and they started for the corral. Hal Dunbar and his twomen already were standing close to the bars, and Diablo stoodquivering, high-headed, in the center of the inclosure. But, of thepicture, the attention of Bull Hunter centered mainly on Hal Dunbar. 

His dreams of the man had been true. He was a huge fellow, as tall asBull, or taller, and nearly as bulky. But about Bull Hunter there wasa suggestion of ponderous unwieldiness, and there was none of thatsuggestion about Hal Dunbar. He was lithe and straight as a poplar, and as supple in his movements. The poise of his head and thealertness of his body and something of lightness in his whole posturetold of the trained athlete. Providence had given the man a marvelousbody, and he had improved it to the uttermost. To crown all, there wasa remarkably handsome face, dark eyes and coal-black hair. 

Yet, more than the imposing body of this hero of the ranges, Bull wasimpressed by the spirit of the man. The thing that Tod had felt, hefelt in turn. It shone from the eye, it spoke in the set of Dunbar'smouth, something unconquerable. It was impossible, after a singleglance, to imagine this man failing. Diablo, it was true, had the sameinvincible air. Indeed, they seemed meant for each other, this horseand this man. They might have been picked from a crowd and the oneassigned to the other. Huge, lithe, fleet, powerful, and fiercelyfree, surely Hal Dunbar was intended by fate to sit in the saddle andgovern Diablo according to his will. 

The heart of Charlie Hunter sank. Here was the end, then, of all thelove he had put into his work, of all the feminine gentleness withwhich he had petted Diablo and soothed him. And he discovered, in thatbitter moment, that he had not worked merely to gain control of thehorse. There would be no joy in making Diablo bend to his will. Hisaim was, and from the first unconsciously had been, to win Diablo sothat the stallion would serve him joyously and freely out of the lovehe bore him. As he thought of this, his glance rested on the long, spoon-handled spurs of big Hal Dunbar. 

Dunbar was shaking hands with Bridewell, leaning a trifle over thelittle old man. 

"Here's one that'll be sorry to see you ride Diablo, " said Bridewell. He pointed to Hunter. "He's been working weeks, trying to make a petout of the hoss. "

"A pet out of him? A pet?" echoed Dunbar. 

He measured Bull Hunter with a certain bright interest. The sleeves ofBull were rolled up to the elbows and down the forearms ran thetangling masses of muscle. But the interest of Dunbar was onlymonetary. Presently his lip curled slightly, and he turned his haughtyhead toward the great stallion. 

"I'll do something more than pet him. Ill make something useful out ofthe big brute. Saddle him, boys!"

He gestured carelessly, and his two attendants started toward thecorral, one with a heavy saddle and one with a rope. As he stoodrolling his cigarette and watching negligently, he impressed Bull as averitable knight of the ranges, a baron with baronial adherents. Itcame partly from his splendid stature, and more from his flauntinglyrich costume. The heavy gold braid on the sombrero, the gilded spurs, the brilliant silk shirt would have been out of place on another man, but they fit in with Hal Dunbar. They were adjuncts to the pride ofhis face. Bull's attention wavered to Tod. 

"Are--are they going to rope Diablo?"

Tod flashed a half-disgusted, half-despairing glance up at hiscompanion. 

"What d'you think they're going to do? What do you think?"

Bull turned away, sick hearted. He could not bear the thought of thegreat stallion struggling helpless in the snaky coils of the rope. Butof course there was no other way. Yet his muscles tightened, and theperspiration poured out on his forehead as he heard a shout from oneof the men, then a brief drumming of Diablo's hoofs, and finally theheavy thud as the stallion struck full length on the ground. 

That sound stunned Bull as though he had received a blow himself. Every nerve in him was tingling, revolting against the brutality. Theywere idiots, hopeless fools, to dream of conquering Diablo by bruteforce. And if they succeeded, they would have a broken-spirited horseon their hands, worse than useless, or else a treacherous man-killerto the end of his days. 

He looked again. Diablo, saddled and blindfolded was being driven outof the corral; a man held him on either side, and his mouth, draggedout, was already bleeding from the cruel Spanish bit. At that BullHunter saw red. 

When his senses returned to him, he went hurriedly to Dunbar. 

"Friend, " he said, earnestly pleading, "will you let me make asuggestion?"

The insolent dark eyes ran over him mockingly. 

"Oh, you're the fellow who tried to make a pet out of Diablo? Well, what's the suggestion?"

"If you wear those spurs you'll drive him mad! Take 'em off, Mr. Dunbar!"

Dunbar stared at him in amazement, and then looked to the others. "Didyou hear that? This wise one wants me to try to ride without spurs. Who taught you to ride, eh?"

"I don't know much about it, " confessed Bull humbly, "but I knowyou're apt to cut him up badly with those big spurs. "

"And what the devil difference does that make to you?" cried Dunbarwith heat. "And what do you mean by all these fool suggestions? I'mriding the horse!"

Bull drew back, downheaded. Hal Dunbar cast one contemptuous glancetoward him and then stepped to the side of Diablo. The stallion wasquivering and crouching with fear and anger, and shaking his head fromtime to time to get clear of the bandage which blinded him and madehim helpless. Now and then he reared a little and came down onprancing forefeet, and Bull noted the spring and play of the fetlockjoints. The whole running mechanism of the horse, indeed, seemedcomposed of coiled springs. Once released, what would the result be?And the first hope entered his mind, the first hope since he had seenthe proud form of Hal Dunbar. 

Now the big man set his hand on the pommel and vaulted into the saddlewith a lightness that Bull admired hugely. Under the impact of thatdescending bulk the stallion crouched almost to the earth, but he cameup again with a snort and a strangled neigh of rage. 

"Are you ready?" called Dunbar, gathering the reins, and giving thestring of his quirt another twist around his right hand. 

One of his men had mounted his horse with a rope, the noose end ofwhich was around Diablo's neck. This would serve as a pivot block tokeep Diablo running in a circle. If he tried to run in a straight linethe running noose would stop him and choke him down. He would have togallop in a circle for his bucking, and to help keep him in thatcircle, the spectators now grouped themselves loosely in a wide rim. But Bull Hunter did not move. From where he stood he could see allthat he wished. 

"All ready!" called the man with the rope. 

"Let her go, then!"

The bandage was torn from the eyes of the stallion by Dunbar's secondassistant, and the fellow leaped aside as he did so. Even then hebarely escaped. Diablo had launched himself in pursuit, and his teethsnapped a fraction of an inch from the shoulder of the fugitive as therope came taut and jerked him aside, and the full weight of Dunbar wasthrown back on the reins. 

That mighty wrench of back and shoulder and arm would have broken thejaw of an ordinary horse; it hardly disturbed Diablo. His head wasfirst tucked back until his chin was against his breast, but a momentlater he was head down, bucking as never horse bucked before. Onesecond earlier Hal Dunbar had seemed almost as powerful as the animalhe rode; now he suddenly became small. 

For one thing Diablo wasted no time running against the rope. Hefollowed the line of least resistance and bolted around the widecircle with tremendous leaps, gathering impetus as he ran--thenstopping in mid-career by the terrific process of hurling himself inthe air and coming down on four stiff legs and with his back humped sothat the rider sat at the uneasy apex of a pyramid. And this wasmerely a beginning. That wild category of tricks which Bull had seenpartially unraveled the first time he visited the horse was nowbrought forth again, enlarged, improved upon, made more intricate, intensified. But well and nobly did Hal Dunbar sustain his fame as apeerless rider. He rode straight up, and a cheer came from thespectators when they saw that he was not touching leather in the midstof the fiercest contortions of Diablo. It seemed that the great brutewould snap the very saddle off his back, but still the rider saterect, swaying as though in a storm, but still firmly glued tothe saddle. 

Even the heart of Bull Hunter warmed to the battle. They were abrutally glorious pair as they struggled. The wrenching hand of therider and the Spanish bit had bloodied the mouth of the stallion, thespurs were clinging horribly at his sides, and he fought back like amad thing. He flung himself on the ground, Dunbar barely slipped fromthe saddle in time, and whipped onto his feet again, but as he lurchedup, he carried the weight of the rider again, for Dunbar had leapedinto his seat, and as Diablo came up on all fours, it could be seenthat the big man had secured both stirrups--the difficult thing inthat feature of the fight. Dunbar urged the stallion on with a yell;and swinging the quirt over his head, he brought it down with astinging cut on the silky flanks of the great horse. Bull Huntercrouched as though the lash had cut into his own flesh. He becamesavage for the moment. He wanted to have his hands on that rider!

But the cut of the quirt transformed Diablo. If he had fought hardbefore, he now fell into a truly demoniacal frenzy. The long flashinglegs were springs indeed, and the moment his hoofs struck the earth hewas flung up again to a greater height. He was sunfishing now in thatmost deadly manner when the horse lands on one forehoof, the riderreceiving a double jar from the down-shock and then the whiplash snapto the side. Hal Dunbar was no longer using his quirt. It dangled idlyat his side. The joy had gone from his face. In its place, as shockafter shock benumbed his brain, there was an expression of fiercedespair. Neither was he riding straight up, but he was pullingleather. 

Otherwise, nothing human could have retained a seat in the saddle foran instant. Diablo, squealing, snorting, and grunting with effort, wasdashing back and forth, flinging himself aloft, coming down on onestiff leg, doubling back with jackrabbit agility. 

There was no longer applause from the onlookers. Old Bridewell himselfin all of his years had never seen riding such as this, and it seemedthat Diablo at last had met his master. Never had he fought as hefought now; never had he been stayed with as he was now. With foam andsweat the great black was reeking, but never once were the effortsrelaxed. It was too terrible a sight to be applauded. 

Then, at the end of a run, instead of hurling himself into the air ashe had usually done before, Diablo flung himself down and rolled. Itcaught Dunbar by surprise, but the yell of horror from the bystandersstimulated him to sharp action, and he was out of the saddle in thelast hair's breadth of time. 

Diablo had been carried on over to his feet by the impetus of thefall, and he was already rising when Dunbar leaped for the saddle. Fair and true he struck the saddle and with marvelous skill his leftfoot caught the stirrup and clung to it--but the right foot missed itsaim, and, before Dunbar could lodge his foot squarely, the stirrup wasdancing crazily as Diablo began a wild combination of cross-buckingand sunfishing. The hat snapped from the head of Dunbar and his longblack hair tossed; with both hands he was clinging. All joy of battlewas gone from him. In its place was staring fear, for his right footwas still out of the stirrup. 

"Choke him down! Choke him--" he shrieked. 

Before he could be obeyed by his confused henchmen, Diablo shot intothe air and at the very crest of his rise, bucked. Dunbar lurched toone side. There was a groan from the bystanders; and the next instantthe stallion, landing on the one stiffened foreleg, had snapped hisrider from the saddle and hurled him to the ground. 

He lay in a shapeless heap, and the stallion whirled to finish hisenemy. 

CHAPTER 18

Every second of the fight Bull Hunter had followed the actions of thehorse as though he were directing them from the distance with someelectric form of communication and control. When Hal Dunbar with ayell of despair was flung sidewise in the saddle as Diablo bucked inmid-air, Bull Hunter knew what was coming and lurched through the lineof watchers. Straight across the open space of the circle he raced ashe had never run before, and while the others stood frozen, while theman with the rope tugged futilely, Bull came in front of the stallionas Diablo whirled to smash his late rider to a pulp. There was noquestion of Dunbar crawling out of the way. He had rolled on his backwith arms outstretched, helplessly stunned. Even in the lightningspeed of the action Bull found time to wonder what would be the resultif the hoof of the wild horse crashed down into that upturned, handsome face, now stained with crimson and black with dust. 

He had no time to imagine further. Diablo, red-eyed with anger, hadwhirled on him and reared, and swerving from those terrible, pawinghoofs, Bull Hunter leaped in and up. His goal was not the tossingbridle rein, but the stout strap which circled the head just above thebit, and his big right hand jarred home on this goal. All his weightwas behind his stiffened arm, and under the blow the stallion lurchedhigher. A down-sweep of a forefoot gashed Bull's shoulder and tore hisshirt to shreds. But he pressed, expecting every instant the finishingblow on his head. In he went, with all his weight behind the effort, and felt the stallion stagger on his hind legs, then topple, losebalance, and fall with a crash on his side!

Bull followed him in the fall, for half a step, then whirled, scoopedthe nerveless body of Hal Dunbar in his arms, and rushed staggeringunder the burden to the edge of the circle. Diablo had regained hisfooting instantly, but as he strove to follow, the rope had drawn tautabout his throat, and he was checked. 

As for Bull Hunter, he laid the senseless burden down in safety, andturned toward the stallion. One haunting fear was in his mind. HadDiablo been sufficiently blinded in the excitement of the battle tofail to recognize him, or had the great horse known the hand thattoppled it back? In the latter case Bull Hunter could never come nearthe black without peril of his life. 

In a gloomy quandary he stared at the trembling, shining giant, whostood with his head high and his tail flaunting, and all the fiercepride of victory in his eye. One knot of people had gathered over thefallen Hal Dunbar, but some remained, dazed and gaping, looking at theform of the conqueror. A wild temptation came to Bull to test thehorse even in this crisis of excitement, with every evil passionroused in him. He stepped out again, his right hand extended, hisvoice soft. 

"Diablo!"

The stallion jerked his head toward the voice, but the head wastwitched away as the man with the rope brought it taut again. 

"You fool!" he shouted. "Get back, or the hoss'll nail you!"

Unreasoning rage poured thrilling through Bull Hunter. He shook hisgreat fist at the other. 

"Slack away on that rope or I'll break you in two!"

There was a moment of amazed silence; then, with a curse, the riderthrew the rope on the ground. 

"Get your head broke then!"

Bull Hunter had forgotten him already. He had resumed that approach. At his voice the stallion turned that proud and terrible head--withthe ears flattened against his neck. It gave him an ominous, snakelikeappearance about the head, but still Bull went steadily and slowlytoward him with his hand out, that ancient gesture of peace and goodwill. There were shouts and warnings from the others. Hal Dunbar, hissenses returned, had staggered to his feet; he had received no injuryin the fall, and now he gaped in amazement at this empty-handed manapproaching the stallion. And Diablo was no longer controlled bythe rope!

But all the outcries meant nothing to Bull Hunter. They faded to ablur. All he saw was the head of the stallion. Had he known andremembered that fall and the hand that forced him to it? He could nottell. There might be any murderous intent in that quivering, crouching form. 

Just that name, over and over again, very softly, "Diablo! Steady, Diablo!"

Now he was within two paces--within a yard--his fingers were close tothe terrible head and the ears of Diablo pricked forward. 

"Ah, Diablo! They'll never touch you with the spurs again!"

The stallion made a long step, and with his head raised he looked overthe shoulder of Bull Hunter and snorted his defiance at all other menin the world! And down his neck the big, gentle hand was running, soothing his quivering body, and the steady voice was bringinginfinite messages of reassurance to the troubled brain. That hand wasloosening now the rope which was burning into his neck--loosening it, drawing it off. And now the bridle followed; and Diablo's mouth wasfree from the cruel taint of the steel. The head of the stallionturned--great, soft eyes looked into the face of Bull Hunter andaccepted him as a friend forever. 

Hal Dunbar, groggy from the shock of the fall, staggered toward them. 

"Get away from the horse!" he commanded. "Hey, Riley, grab Diablo forme again. I'll ride him this time. "

He was too unsteady to walk in a straight line, but the fire of battlewas in his eyes again. There was no doubting the gameness of the bigman. Old Bridewell caught his arm and drew him back. 

"If Diablo gets a sniff of you on the wind he'll come at you like awolf. Stand back here--and watch!"

Hal Dunbar was too dazed to resist. Besides, he began to see that alleyes were focused on the black stallion and the man beside him. Thatman was the huge, cloddish stranger who had advised him to ridewithout spurs. Then the full meaning came to Dunbar. The rope was nolonger around the neck of the stallion. The very bridle had been takenfrom his head, and yet the stranger stood undaunted beside him, andthe stallion did not seem to be angered by that nearness. 

The next thing Dunbar heard was the voice of Bridewell saying, "Nerviest thing I ever seen. I been putting this Bull Hunter down fora half-wit, pretty near. All his strength in his back and none in hishead. But I changed my mind today. When you hit the ground, Diablowhirled on you, and he'd of smashed you to bits before they couldchoke him down and pull him away, but Bull came out of the crowd onthe run, grabbed the bridle, made Diablo rear, took that cut on hisshoulder, and threw him fair and square. Finest, coolest, headiestthing I ever seen done with a hoss in a pinch. And he saved your skin, Dunbar. You'd be a mess this minute, if it wasn't for Hunter! He threwDiablo and turned around and picked you up as if you was a baby andpacked you over here. Then he went back--and you see what'she's doing?"

"He saved my life?" muttered Dunbar. "That big--He saved my life?"

Gratitude, for the moment at least, was obscured in his mind. All hefelt vividly was a burning shame. He, Hal Dunbar, the invincible, hadbeen beaten fairly and squarely in the battle with the horse; not onlythis, he had been saved from complete destruction only by theintervention of this nonentity, this Bull Hunter whom he had scornedonly a few moments before. He looked about him in blind anger at thebystanders. Worst of all, this was a new country where he was onlyvaguely known, and whenever his name was mentioned in these parts inthe future, there would be someone to tell of the superior prowess ofHunter, and how the life of Dunbar was thrown away and saved byanother. No wonder that big Hal Dunbar writhed with the shame of it. 

He forgot even that emotion now in wonder at what was happening. Hunter had stepped to the side of the horse, raised his foot, and putit in the stirrup. Did the fool intend to climb into the saddle whilethat black devil was not blindfolded, without even a bridle?

That, in fact, was what he was doing. The steady murmur of the voiceof Hunter reached him as the big man soothed the horse. He saw thehead of Diablo turn, saw him sniff the shoulder of his companion, andthen Hunter lifted himself slowly into the saddle. There was a groanof excitement from the spectators, and at the sound rather than at theweight of his back, Diablo crouched. It was only for a moment that hequivered, wild-eyed, irresolute. Then he straightened and threw up hishead. Bull Hunter, his face white and drawn but his mouth resolute, had touched the shining flank of the stallion, and Diablo moved into asoft trot, gentle as the flowing of water. 

Before him the circle split and rolled back. He glided through, guidedby a hand that touched lightly on his neck, and in an utter silence hewas seen to turn the corner of the nearest shed and approach thecorral. Hal Dunbar, rubbing his eyes, was the first to speak. 

"A trick horse!" he said. "By the Lord, a trick horse!"

"The first time I ever seen him play that trick, " gasped oldBridewell, his eyes huge and round, "except when Tod was up on him. Idunno what's happened. It's like a dream. But there's a saddle on himnow, and that was something even Tod could never make him stand. Idunno what's happened!"

The little crowd broke up into chattering groups. Here had been athing that would bear telling and retelling for many a year. In theconfusion Dunbar's man, Riley, approached his employer. 

Both gratitude and shame were forgotten by Dunbar now. He gripped theshoulder of this man and groaned, "I've lost him, Riley! The onlyhorse ever foaled that could have carried me the way a man should becarried. Now I'll have to ride plow horses the rest of my life!"

He pointed to the cloddish, heavy-limbed gray which he had ridden inhis quest for the superhorse at the Bridewell place. 

"I been thinking, " said Riley. "I been thinking a pile the last fewminutes. "

"What you been thinking about? What good does thinking do me? I'velost the horse, haven't I, and that half-wit has him?"

"He has him--now, " suggested Riley, watching the face of the big manfor fear that he might go too far. 

"You mean by that?" queried the master. 

"Exactly, " said Riley. "Because he has the black now, it doesn't meanthat he's going to have him forever, does it?"

"Riley, you're a devil. That fellow saved my life, they tell me. "

"I don't mean you're going to bump him off. But suppose you get him tocome and work on your place? There might be ways of getting thehoss--buying him or something. Get him there, and we'll find a way. Besides, he can teach you how to handle the hoss before you get him. Isay it's all turned out for the best. "

Dunbar frowned. "Take him with me? And every place I go I hear itsaid, 'There's the man who rode the horse that threw Dunbar!' No, cursehim, I'll see him in Hades before I take him with me!"

"How else are you going to get the hoss? Tell me that?"

"That's it, " muttered Dunbar. "I've got to have him. I've got to havehim! Did you watch? I felt as if the big black devil had wings. "

"He had you in the air most of the time, all right, " and Rileygrinned. 

"Shut up, " snapped his master. "But the chief thing is, I want to showthat big black fiend that I'm his master. He--he's beaten me once. Butone beating doesn't finish me!"

"Then go get Hunter to come with us when we ride back. "

Dunbar hesitated another instant and then nodded. "It has to be done. "

He strode off in pursuit of Bull and presently found the big man inthe corral rubbing down the stallion; the little bright-eyed Tod wasclose beside them. It had been a great day for Tod. First he had feltthat his giant pupil was disgraced--a man without spirit. And then, inthe time of blackest doubt, Bull Hunter had become a hero andaccomplished the great feat--ridden Diablo, before all the incredulouseyes of the watchers. All of Tod's own efforts had been repaid athousandfold when he heard Bull say to one of those who followed withquestions and admiration, "It's not my work. Tod showed me how to goabout it. Tod deserves the credit. "

That was the reason that Tod's eyes now were supernally bright whenbig Hal Dunbar approached. Diablo showed signs of excitement, butCharlie Hunter quieted him with a word and went to the bars of thecorral. The hand of Dunbar was stretched out, and Bull took it withhumble earnestness. 

"I'm glad you weren't hurt bad, " he said. "For a minute or two I wasscared that Diablo--"

"I know, " cut in Dunbar, for he detested a new description of thescene of his failure. Then he made himself smile. "But I've come tothank you for what you did, Hunter. Between you and me, I know that Italked rather sharp to you a while back. I'm sorry for that. Andnow--why, man, your side must be wounded!"

"It's just a little scratch, " said Bull good-naturedly. "It isn't thefirst time that Diablo has made me bleed but now--well, isn't he wortha fight, Mr. Dunbar?"

And he gestured to the magnificent, watchful head of the stallion. Theheart of Hal Dunbar swelled in him. By fair means or foul, he musthave that horse, and on the spot he made his proposition to Hunter. Hehad only to climb on the back of Diablo and ride south with him; thepay would be anything--double what he got from Bridewell, who, besides, was almost through with him, Dunbar understood. 

"But I'm not much good, " and Bull sighed reluctantly. "I can't use arope, and I don't know cattle, and--"

"I'll find uses for you. Will you come?"

So it was settled. But before Bull climbed into the saddle and startedoff after Dunbar, little Tod drew him to one side. 

"There ain't any good in Dunbar. Watch him and--remember me, Bull. "

CHAPTER 19

That ride to the southern mountains seemed to Bull Hunter to mark agreat point of departure between his old life and a new life. 

He had not heard Riley, fox-faced and wicked of eye, say to hismaster, "What this big fool needs is a little kidding. Make him thinkthat we figure him to be a big gun. " He had not seen Hal Dunbar make awry face before he nodded. 

All that Bull Hunter could know was that the three men--Riley, Dunbar, and Joe Castor--were all exceedingly pleasant to him on the way. Ofall the men in the world, only Pete Reeve had treated him as these menwere now doing, and it was sweet beyond measure to Bull Hunter to betreated with considerate respect, to have his opinion asked, to bedeferred to and flattered. As for the thousand little asides withwhich they made a mock of him, they were far above his head. It seemedonly patent to Bull Hunter that he had been accepted freely into theequal society of men. 

He drew a vague comparison between that success and his mastery ofDiablo. The big stallion was like a kitten under his hand. It requiredmuch coaxing during the first half-day of riding to bring Diablowithin speaking distance of the other men, but gradually he discoveredthat they could do him no harm so long as the gentle voice of Hunterwas near him; thereafter he was entirely amenable to reason. One couldsee that the stallion was learning difficult lessons, but he waslearning them fast. Eye and ear and scent told him that thesecreatures were dangerous. Old experience told him that they weredangerous, and only a blind trust in Bull Hunter enabled him toconquer the panic which surged up in his brain time and again. But hekept on trying, and the constant struggle against men which hadfeatured his life made him astonishingly quick to pick up new facts. The first step had been the hard one, and it seemed to Bull Hunterthat the close-knit, smooth-flowing muscles beneath him were carryinghim onward into the esteem of all men. To Diablo he gave the praise, and after Diablo to little freckled Tod, and to Pete Reeve, thefighter. As for taking any credit for himself, that idea never came tohim for a moment. 

The long trip took two days. They crossed the green, rolling hills;they passed the foothills, and climbing steadily they came onto abroad, high plateau--it was a natural kingdom, this ranch of theDunbars. The fence around it was the continuous range of mountainsskirting the plateau on all sides, and in every direction up to thoseblue summits as far as the eye carried, stretched the land which ownedHal Dunbar as master. To Bull Hunter, when they reached the crest, and the broad domain was pointed out to him, this seemed a princelystretch indeed, and Hal Dunbar was more like a king than ever. It waseasy to forgive pride in such a man and a certain asperity of temper. How could so rich and powerful a man be like others?

The ranch house was worthy of such a holding. A heavy growth ofbeautiful silver spruce swept up the slope of some hills, and ridingthrough the forest, one caught the first glimpse of the building. Itwas spread out carelessly, the foundations laid deep to cover theirregularities of the ground. It was a heterogeneous mass, obviouslynot the work of any one builder. Here a one-story wing rambled far tothe side, built heavily, of logs rudely squared, and there was athree-story frame section of the house; and still again there was atall tower effect of rough stone. As for the barns and sheds whichswept away down the farther and lower slopes, the meanest of themlooked to Bull as though it might have made a home of more thanaverage comfort. 

The three other riders noted the gaping astonishment of Bull andpassed the wink quietly around. To Hal Dunbar it was growing more andmore annoying that he had to trouble himself with such a clod of a manand use diplomacy where contemptuous force would have been so muchmore after his heart. But he continued to follow the scheme first laiddown for his pursuit by clever Riley, and when they came to thewide-ranging stable he assigned the black stallion to a roomy boxstall. Bull Hunter thanked him for the courtesy as though it had beena direct personal favor; as a matter of fact, Hal felt that he wasmerely taking care of a horse which was already as good as his. 

Coming back toward the house Bull walked slowly in the rear of thelittle party. He wanted to take plenty of time and drink in theastonishing details of what to him was a palace. And about theweather-beaten old house he felt that there was a touch of mystery ofa more or less feudal romance. Climbing the steps to the porch heturned; a broad sweep of hills opened above the tops of the spruces, and the blue mountains were piled beyond. 

While he stood, a door slammed, and he heard a girl's mellow voicecalling, "Hello, Hal, what luck?"

"What luck? No luck!" grumbled young Dunbar. "All the luck has gonethe way of my ... Friend ... Here. " He brought out the last wordsjokingly. "This is Charlie Hunter, commonly called Bull for reasonsyou may guess. Bull, this is Mary Hood. "

Bull had turned lumberingly, and he found himself staring at a girl ina more formal riding outfit than he had ever seen before, with tallboots of soft red leather, and a little round black hat set on herhair, and a coat fitted somewhat closely. The rather masculine outfitonly served to make her freer, more independent, more delightfullyherself, Bull Hunter thought. She looked him up and down and reservedjudgment, it seemed. 

"He rode Diablo, " Dunbar was explaining. 

"And that's why you brought him?" she asked, flashing a queer glanceat Hal. 

Then she came a pace down the steps and shook hands with Bull. He tookthe small hand carefully, with a fear that the bones would breakunless he were excessively gentle. At last she laughed so frankly thata tingle went through his big body, and he peered closely at her. As arule the laughter of others made him hot with shame, but this laughterwas different; it seemed to invite him into a pleasant secret. 

"I'm glad to meet the man who conquered Diablo, " she was saying. 

"I didn't beat Diablo, " he hastened to explain. "We just sort ofreached an understanding. He saw that I didn't mean him any harm--sohe let me ride him. That's all there was to it!"

He saw her eyes narrow a trifle as she looked down at him, for she haddrawn back to the level of the porch. Was she despising him andcondemning him merely because he had told her the truth? He flushed atthe thought, and then he was called into the house by Dunbar andbrought to a room. The size of it inspired him with a profound awe, and he was still gaping when Dunbar left him. 

In the hall the master of the house met Riley, and the fox-facedlieutenant drew him aside. 

"I've got a plan, " he said. 

"You're full of plans, " muttered Dunbar evilly. 

All the way home he had been striving to find some way of explaininghis lack of success with the stallion to Mary Hood. She had grown upon the ranch with him, for her father had been the manager of theranch for twenty years; and she had grown up with the feeling that HalDunbar was infallible and invincible. 

"Did you see the big hulk look at Mary Hood?" Riley asked. 

The name came pat with the unpleasant part of Hal's brooding, and hisscowl grew blacker. "What about it?"

"Looked at her as though she was an angel--touched her hand as thoughit was fire. I tell you, Hal, she knocked Hunter clean offhis balance. "

"Not the first she's done that to, " said Hal with meaning. 

"Maybe not. Maybe not, " said Riley rather hastily. "But I beenthinking. Suppose you go to Mary and tell her that you're dead set onkeeping this Hunter with you. Tell her that he's a hard fellow tohandle, that he likes her, and that the best way to make sure of himis for her to be nice to him. She can do that easy. She takes nacheralto flirting. "

"Flirt with that thick-head? She'd laugh in my face. "

"She'd do more than that for you, Hal. "

"H'm, " grunted Dunbar, greatly mollified. "I ask her to make Hunterhappy. What comes of it? If her father sees Hunter make eyes at herhe'll blow the head off the clodhopper. "

"I know. " Riley nodded. "He's always afraid she'll take a fancy to oneof the hands and run off with him, or something like that. He's deadset agin' her saying two words to anybody like me, say!"

He gritted his teeth and flushed at the thought. Then he continued. "But that's just what you want. You want to get Hunter's head blownoff, don't you?"

Dunbar caught the shoulder of Riley and whirled him around. 

"Are you talking murder to me, Riley?"

"I'm talking sense, " said Riley. 

"By the Lord, " growled Dunbar, "you're a plain bad one, Riley. Youlike deviltry for the sake of the deviltry itself. You want meto get--"

"How much do you want the black hoss, chief?" Dunbar sighed. 

"You can't touch him, after him saving your life, and I can't touchhim, because everybody knows that I'm your man. But suppose you getthe girl and Hunter planted? Then when Jack Hood rides in thisafternoon, I'll take him where he can see 'em together. Leave the restto me. Will you? I'll have Jack Hood scared she's going to elopebefore morning, and Jack will do the rest. You know his way. "

"Suppose Hood gets killed?"

"Killed--by that? Jack Hood? Why, you know he's near as good as youwith his gat!"

Dunbar nodded slowly. After all, the scheme was a simple one. 

"Well?" whispered Riley. 

"You and the devil win, " said Hal. "After all, what's this Hunteramount to? Nothing. And I need the horse!"

He executed the first step of the scheme instantly. He went downstairsand found the girl still on the veranda. She began to mock himat once. 

"You'll go to heaven, Hal, giving a home to the man who beats you. "

He managed to smile, although the words were poison to him. He hadloved her as long as he could remember, and sooner or later she wouldbe his wife, but the period remained indefinitely in the future as thewhims of the girl changed. It was for that reason, as Hal very wellknew, that her father became furious when she smiled at another man. The rich marriage was his goal; and when a second man stepped onto thestage, old Jack Hood was ready to fight. Hal saw a way of stopping hergibes and proving his good intentions toward Hunter all in a breath. 

"He saved my life, Mary. I lost a stirrup, and the devil of a horsethrew me. "

Briefly he sketched in the story of the rescue, and how Bull Hunterafterward had ridden the horse without spurs, without a bridle. Beforehe ended her eyes were shining. 

"That's what he meant when he said he hadn't beaten Diablo. Iunderstand now. At the time I thought he was a little simple, Hal. "

"He's not exceptionally clever, Mary, " said Hal, "and that's where thepoint comes in of what I want you to do. Hunter is apt to take a fancythat he isn't wanted here--that he's being kept out of charity becausehe saved my life. Nothing I can say will convince him. I want you togive him a better reason for staying around. Will you do it--as agreat favor?"

She dropped her chin into her hand and studied him. 

"Just what are you driving at, Hal?"

"You know what I mean well enough. I want you to waste a smile or twoon him, Mary. Will you do that? Make him think you like him a gooddeal, that you're glad to have him around. Will you? Take him out fora walk this afternoon and get him to tell you the story of his life. You can always make a man talk and generally you turn them into fools. You've done it with me, often enough, " he added gloomily. 

"Flirt with that big, quiet fellow?" she said gravely. "Hal, you'recriminal. Besides, you know that I don't flirt. It's just theopposite. When I like a man I'm simply frank about it. "

"But you have a way of being frank so that a poor devil usually thinksyou want to marry him, and then there's the devil to pay. You know itperfectly well. "

"That's not true, Hal!"

"I won't argue. But will you do it?"

"Absolutely not!"

"It might be quite a game. He may not be altogether a fool. Andsuppose he were to wake up? Suppose he's simply half-asleep?"

He saw a gleam of excitement come in her eyes and wisely left herwithout another word. After things had reached a certain point Marycould be generally trusted to carry the action on. 

CHAPTER 20

Jack Hood had ridden out on his rounds with a new horse that morning, and the new horse developed the gait of a plow horse. The result wasthat grim old Jack reached the house that night with a body racked bythe labor of the day and a disposition poisoned for the entireevening. He was met at the stable by Riley, and the sight of himbrought a spark for the moment into the eye of the foreman. 

"You're back, then, and you got Diablo?"

"Look yonder. "

Jack Hood went to the box stall and came back rubbing his hands, buthis exultation was cut short by Riley's remark. "He doesn't belong toHal. Hal was thrown and another gent rode him. "

The amazement of Jack Hood took the shape of a wild torrent ofprofanity. He was proud of the ranch which he had controlled for solong, and still prouder of his young master. His creed included twomain points--the essential beauty of his daughter and theinfallibility of young Hal Dunbar; consequently his great ambition wasto unite the two. 

"Mary took to Hunter pretty kindly, " concluded Riley, as they walkedback toward the house at the conclusion of the story. 

The foreman took off his hat and shook back his long, iron-gray hair. 

"Trust her for that. Something new is always what she wants. "

"They've got the new well pretty near sunk, " said Riley. "Take a lookat it?"

"All right. "

But before they had gone halfway down the path onto which Riley hadcunningly diverted the older man, he caught Hood's arm and stopped himwith a whisper. 

"Look at that. _Already!_ This Hunter ain't such a slow worker, eh, Jack?"

They had come in view of the little terraced garden which was Mary'sparticular property; it was screened from the house by a rank or twoof the spruce, and on a rustic bench, seated with their backs to thewitnesses, were Mary and Bull Hunter. The girl was rapt in attention, and her eyes never left the face of Hunter. As for Bull, he wastalking steadily, and it seemed to Jack Hood that as the big strangertalked he leaned closer and closer to the girl. The hint which Rileyhad already dropped was enough to inflame the imagination of thesuspicious foreman; what he now saw was totally conclusive, hethought. Now, under his very eyes, he saw the big man stretch out hishand, and he saw the hand of Mary dropped into it. 

It was more than Riley had dared to hope for. He caught Jack Hood bythe shoulders, and whirled him around, and half dragged him back tothe house. 

"Not in front of your daughter, Jack, " he pleaded. "I don't blame youfor being mad when a skunk like that starts flirting with a girl thefirst day he's seen her. But if you got anything to say to him, waittill Mary is out of the way. There goes the supper bell. Hurry on in. Keep hold on yourself. "

"Do I have to sit through supper and look at that hound?"

"Not at all, " suggested the cunning Riley. "Have a bite in the kitchenand go up to your room. I'll say that you got some figures to runover. Afterward, you can come down and jump him!"

He watched Jack Hood disappear, grinning faintly, and then hunted forHal Dunbar. 

"It's started, " he said. "I dropped a word in Jack's ear and thenshowed him the two of 'em sitting together. It was like a spark in thepowder. The old boy exploded. "

"How close were they sitting?" asked Hal suspiciously. 

"Close enough. " Riley grinned, for he was not averse to making evenDunbar himself writhe. 

The result was that Hal maneuvered to draw Mary Hood aside when shecame in with big Hunter for supper. Something in Bull Hunter's facedisturbed 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 ahalf-wit by any means, Hal. I had a hard time of it at first, but thenI got him talking about Diablo and the trouble ended. Not a bit ofsentiment in him; but just like a great big, simple, honest boy, witha 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 fromenthusiastic. 

"Of course he'll stay. Do you know what he did? He promised to try toteach me to ride Diablo, and he even shook hands on it! Hal, I likehim immensely!"

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

He began to wait nervously for the coming of the girl's father and theexplosion. As soon as supper was over, following the time-honoredcustom which the first Dunbar established on the ranch, Mary left theroom, and the men gathered in groups for cards or dice or talk, forthey were not ordinary hired hands, but picked men. Many of them hadgrown gray in the Dunbar service. Now was the time for the coming ofJack Hood, and Hal had not long to wait. 

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

Hal Dunbar waited, holding his breath. One brilliant picture wasdawning on his mind--himself mounted on great black Diablo andswinging over the hills at a matchless gallop. 

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

Over those long legs Jack Hood stumbled. When he whirled on the seatedman his cheer was gone and a devil was in his face. 

"You damned lummox, " he said, "what d'ye mean by tripping me?"

"Me?" gasped Bull, the smile gradually fading and blank amazementtaking its place. 

It was at this moment that a man stepped out of the shadow of thekitchen doorway, a very small withered man. No doubt he was some latearrival asking hospitality for the night; and having come after supperwas over, he had been fed in the kitchen and then sent in among theother men; for no one was turned away hungry from the Dunbar house. Hewas so small, so light-footed, that he would hardly have been noticedat any time, and now that the roar from Jack Hood had focused all eyeson Bull Hunter, the newcomer was entirely overlooked. He seemed tomake it a point to withdraw himself farther, for now he stepped into adense shadow near the wall where he could see and remain unseen. 

Jack Hood had shaken his fist under the nose of the seated giant. 

"I meant it, " he cried. "You tripped me, you skunk, and Jack Hoodain't old enough to take that from no man!"

Bull Hunter cast out deprecatory hands. The words of this fire-eyedfellow were bad enough, but the tigerish tenseness of his muscles wasstill worse. It meant battle, and the long, black, leather holster atthe thigh of Hood meant battle of only one kind. It had come sosuddenly on him that Bull Hunter was dazed. 

"I'm sorry, " he said. "I sure didn't mean to trip you--but maybe myfoot might of slipped out a little and--"

"Slipped out!" sneered Hood. He stopped, panting with fury. That acomparative stranger should have dared to speak familiarly with hisdaughter was bad enough; that a blank-faced coward should have daredflirt with her, dared take her hand, was maddening. 

"You infernal sneak!" he growled. "Are you going to try to get out ofit, now that you've seen you can't bluff me down--that I won't standfor your tricks?"

Bull Hunter rose, slowly, unfolding his great bulk until he toweredabove the other; and yet the condensed activity of Hood was fully asformidable. There were pantherlike suggestions of speed about the armthat dangled beside his holster. 

The withered little man in the shadow by the kitchen door took onenoiseless step into the light--and then shrank back as though he hadchanged his mind. 

"It looks to me, " said Bull Hunter mildly, "that you're trying toforce a fight on me. Stranger, I can't fight a man as old as you are. "

Perhaps it was a tactless speech, but Bull was too dazed to think ofgrace in words. It brought a murderous snarl from the other. 

"I'm old enough to be Jack Hood--maybe you've heard of me? And I'myoung enough to polish off every unlicked cub in these parts. Now, curse you, what d'ye say to that?"

"I can only say, " said Bull miserably, feeling his way, "that I don'twant to fight. "

With an oath Hood exclaimed, "A coward! They're all like that--everyone of the big fellers. A yaller-hearted sneak!"

"Easy, Jack!" broke in one of the men. 

"Let Jack alone, " called the commanding voice of Hal Dunbar. "I sawHunter trip him!"

"But, " pleaded Bull Hunter, "I give you my word--"

"Shut up! I've heard enough of your talk. "

Bull Hunter obediently stopped his talk. 

A sickening quiet drew through the room. Men bowed their heads orturned them away, for such cowardice was not pleasant to see. Thelittle man in the shadow raised one hand and brushed it acrosshis face. 

"I'll let you off one way, " said Jack Hood. "Stand up here, and facethe crowd and tell 'em you're a liar, that you're sorry for whatyou done!"

Bull faced the crowd. A shudder of expectancy went through them, andthen they saw that his face was working, not with shame or fear butwith a mental struggle, and then he spoke. 

"Gents, it seems like I may be wrong. I may have tripped him which Ididn't mean to. But not knowing that I tripped him, I got to say thatI can't call myself a liar. I can't apologize. "

They were shocked into a new attention; they saw him turn and face thefrown of Jack Hood. 

"You're forcing this fight, stranger. And, if you keep on, you'lldrop, sir. I promise you that!"

The sudden change in affairs had astonished Jack Hood; now hisastonishment gave way to a sort of hungry joy. 

"I never was strong on words. I got two ways of talking and here's theone I like best!" As he uttered the last word he reached for his gun. 

The little man glided out of the shadow, crouched, intense. It seemedto him that the hand of Bull Hunter hung motionless at his side whilethe gun flashed out from Hood's holster. He groaned at the thought, but in the last second, there was a move of Hunter's hand that no eyecould follow, that singular convulsive twitch which Pete Reeve hadtaught him so long before. Only one gun spoke. Jack Hood spun sidewiseand crashed to the floor, and his gun rattled far away. 

By the time the first man had rushed to the fallen figure, the gun wasback in Bull's holster. 

The little man in the shadow heard him saying, "Pardners, he's notdead. He's shot through the right shoulder, low, beneath the joint. That bullet won't kill him, but get him bandaged quick!"

A calm, clear voice, it rang through the room. The little man slippedback into his shadow, and straightened against the wall. 

"He's right, " said Hal Dunbar, stepping back from the cluster. "Rileyand Jerry, get him up to his room and bandage him, quick! The rest ofyou stay here. We got a job. Hood's gun hung in the holster, and thisfellow shot him down. A murdering, cowardly thing to do. You hear? Amurdering, cowardly thing to do!"

Obviously he was wrong, and obviously not one of his henchmen wouldtell him so. For some reason the boss intended to take up the lostbattle of Jack Hood. Why, was not theirs to reason, though plainly thefight had been fair, and Hood had been in the wrong from the first. They shifted swiftly, a man to each door, the others along the wallwith their hands on their weapons. There was a change in Bull Hunter. One long leap backward carried him into a corner of the room. He stooderect, and they could see his eyes gleaming in the shadow. 

"I think you got me here to trap me, Dunbar, " he called in such avoice that the little man in the shadow thrilled at the sound of it, "but you'll find that you're trapped first, my friend. Touch that gunof yours, and you're a dead man, Dunbar. Curse you, I dare you togo for it!"

Could this be Bull Hunter speaking? The little man in the shadowthrilled with joyous amazement. 

Hal Dunbar evidently was going to fight the thing through. He stoodswaying a little from side to side. "No guns out, boys, as yet. Waittill I take my crack at him, and then--"

The little man in the shadow stepped out into the light and walkedcalmly toward the center of the room. 

"Just a little wee minute, Dunbar, " he was saying. "Just a little weeminute, Mr. Man-trapper Dunbar! I got a word to say. "

"Who the devil are you?" cried Hal Dunbar, turning on this punystranger. 

A joyous shout from Bull Hunter drowned the answer of the other. 

"Pete! Pete Reeve!"

The little man waved his hand carelessly to the giant in the corner. 

"You give me a hard trail, Bull, old boy. But you didn't think youcould slip me, did you? Not much. And here I am, pretty pronto on thedot, I figure. " He took in with a glance the men along the walls. "Youknow me, boys, and I'm here to see fair play. They ain't going to befair play in this room with you boys lined up waiting to drop Bull incase he plugs Dunbar. Dunbar, I know you. And between you and me, Idon't know no good of you. You're young, but you're going to showlater on. If you want to talk business to Bull Hunter some other time, you're welcome to come finding him, and he won't be hard to find. Bull, come along with me. Just back up, if you don't mind, Bull. Because they's murder in our friend Dunbar's face. And here we are!"

Side by side they drew back to the outer door with big Hal Dunbarwatching them from under a scowl, with never a word, and so throughthe door and into the night. 

Two minutes later Diablo was rocking across the hills with his mightystride, and the cow pony of Pete Reeve was pattering beside him. 

As they drove through the great spruces the moon rose. Bull Huntergreeted it with a thundering song and threw up his hands to it. 

Pete Reeve swore softly in amazement and drew his horse to a walk. 

"By the Lord, " cried Bull, "and I haven't thanked you yet for pullingme out of that mess. I'd be crow's food by this time if it hadn't beenfor you, Pete!"

"That only wipes out one score. Let's talk about you, Bull. Since Ilast seen you, you've got to be a man. Was it dropping Hood that madeyou buck up like this?"

"That old man?"

"That old man, " snorted Pete, "is Jack Hood, one of the best of 'emwith 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 ofchill 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 toyou, eh? You forget her, Bull. I'm going to take you on the trail withme and keep you from thinking. It's a new trail for me, Bull. It's atrail where I'm going straight, I can't take you with me while I'mplaying against the law. So I'm going to stay inside thelaw--with you. "

"Maybe, " and Bull Hunter sighed. "But no matter how far the trailleads, I'm thinking that some day I'll ride in a circle and come backto this place where we started out together. "

He turned in the saddle. 

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