"That's Hal Thomas!"

"What makes you think so?" demanded Ford sharply.

"Because he's a friend of mine and he was trying to buy a horse for me when I started for your ranch."

"Well, you couldn't have a better friend," asserted the ranchman.

During this colloquy the dog had set up a furious barking and snarling, leaping about in evident readiness to spring upon the horseman when he should get well within the clearing.

By this time the two men and boy were near enough to recognize one another, and Bob's surmise was correct, for the rider was none other than Hal Thomas with Firefly.

"Hey, Ford, call off your dog," yelled the agent.

"Ain't my dog!" retorted the ranchman harshly.

"Since when?" inquired Thomas, with difficulty managing the two ponies that were plunging in fright at the antics of the snarling, snapping hound.

"About thirty minutes ago."

"Whose is it, then?"

"This boy here."

"Mine?" exclaimed Bob in amazement.

"Uhuh! I ain't no use for a dog anybody else can handle."

But Bob did not hear the last words. No sooner assured that the savage beast was his, than he called:

"Steady! Chester! Come here, sir!"

Uncertain whether or not to obey, the dog looked from Bob to the horses. But the boy quickly repeated his commands, running toward the hound, and the animal, with a parting snarl at the agent, turned and trotted to the side of his new master, where he took his stand as though waiting to defend him, should it be necessary.



CHAPTER XXI

AT THE RANCH

As the ranchman watched this scene, his face was a study, but he soon forgot it in listening to the conversation between Thomas and Bob.

"Do you think it was quite fair to run away while I was trying to find a pony for you?" asked the agent.

"Don't scold, Hal," returned Bob. "I suppose it wasn't quite fair. But I wanted to surprise you by getting a job myself, without anybody's help."

Smiling at the boy's independence, Thomas asked:

"Have you got it?"

Before Bob could answer, the ranchman interposed:

"Looks like it, don't it? First he won my—I mean his—dog, and then he won me. Yes, Hal, Bob's landed and you can tell Ned Higgins from me that if he tries to put up any more jokes on Bob, I'll fix him so he can't speak for a year."

"All right, John," smiled the agent. "But I reckon he won't try any more!"

So significant was the agent's tone that Bob inquired anxiously:

"You didn't do anything to him for sending me to Mr. Ford, did you, Hal?"

"No, not much," returned Thomas grimly. Yet had he told the entire truth he would have said he had administered such a beating to the practical joker, upon learning where he had sent Bob, as Fairfax had never seen given by one man to another.

"Won't you come in?" asked the ranchman.

"No, thanks. Can't stop. Got to get back for a train. Here, Bob, come and mount Firefly. He's yours."

"What, you bought Firefly for this boy?" exclaimed Ford in surprise.

"That's what." Then turning to Bob, he added, "Put your left foot in the stirrup and swing into the saddle. That's the way. Say, John, let Bob ride back a way with me. I want to show him a few things about a pony."

"Oh, do!" chimed in Bob.

"All right, though I was calculating to teach him myself," returned Ford, a light such as the station agent had never before seen in his eyes.

"Can I take Chester?" asked Bob.

"Sure, he's yours!"

"Come, boy," called Bob. Then noticing that Hal wanted to say a word to the ranchman, he exclaimed: "Don't tell him who I am, please." And as the agent hesitated, he added, shrewdly, "Mr. Nichols wouldn't like it."

"All right, if you say not," returned Hal.

And wheeling their ponies, the two rode off across the plains, the dog bounding joyfully along at Bob's side.

Gazing after them, even when they had disappeared from sight, stood John Ford.

As the agent had said, Firefly was so gentle and had such an easy gait that after the first few minutes' fear had passed Bob found he could not only keep in the saddle, but could enjoy the motion of the pony.

Critically Thomas watched him, riding close at his side to be at hand in case of trouble, finally exclaiming in hearty approval:

"You take to a horse like a duck to water, Bob."

"Do you mean that, Hal?"

"I sure do. Now dismount and I'll show you a trick or two." And as soon as the boy was on the ground, he continued: "Some ponies have a mean way of starting just as soon as you put your foot in the stirrups. No matter how nervous your mount is, by drawing the left rein—remember you always handle a saddle horse from the left side—so short that it turns the pony's head, you can make him circle round and round, instead of running straight ahead, which will give you a chance to swing into the saddle. Now try it."

Without difficulty Bob performed the feat.

"Good," commented his instructor. "We'll both dismount and I'll teach you how to hobble your pony. Whenever you turn a pony loose on the plains, whether in the day time or at night, always hobble him. You never know what may happen when you are 'punching cattle' and oftentimes by having your pony handy it will save you a lot of trouble, to put it mildly."

While he was speaking, Thomas had taken Bob's lariat, which hung from the pommel of his saddle, and drawing the noose small had slipped it over his pony's right hoof.

"There are two ways of hobbling," he continued, "one, to tie the front and hind feet on the same side, the other, to tie both front feet. As ponies are often mighty lively animals, I don't need to tell you the danger or difficulty of trying to put a rope around their hind legs. But tying the front feet is easy. Allow about seven inches of rope, then take a couple of turns around the left fetlock, make a half-hitch and tie the rest of your rope about the pony's neck.

"Always remember to do that. If you don't, some time the rope end may catch between the rocks or become tangled in some way and cause trouble.

"When you stop to rest after a hard ride, always unsaddle, whether you unbridle or not, and then wipe the dirt and sweat from where the saddle has been. It rests a pony more than anything you can do.

"At night, when you are on the plains, always use your saddle for a pillow, then no one can steal it from you.

"Those are the main points. Any special tricks you'll pick up from John and the boys.

"Oh, there's one more thing: whenever you dismount for any length of time, pull the reins over the pony's head and either throw them over a post or else let them drag on the ground. I don't know why it is, but it seems to make the pony think he is tied."

The lesson over, Bob and Hal remounted and rode on.

At the request of the latter, the boy related his experience at Ford's ranch. As he did so, the agent looked at him with an expression of mingled amazement and approval, and as the story was finished, exclaimed:

"Bob, you sure are a wonder! How you had the nerve to face that dog on foot, I don't see. Many a man on horseback has been forced to turn and flee. How did you do it?"

"Oh, I don't know. Just looked him in the eye and spoke to him, that's all."

But the explanation did not satisfy the agent.

"I don't understand it," he said. "I fully expected to find you lying in Ford's cabin all chewed up. And here your clothes aren't even torn. I don't understand it. This is the first time Chester has ever made friends with anybody. He only minds Ford because he's afraid of him."



CHAPTER XXII

ON THE RANGE STATION

For some time the boy and the man rode in silence, each occupied with his own thoughts.

"Do you know why Mr. Ford calls the dog Chester?" Bob suddenly asked.

"He had to give him some name, I suppose."

"But it's such a queer name, Hal. I asked him and he wouldn't tell me."

A moment the agent was silent, evidently debating something with himself, and finally said:

"I suppose you had better know, Bob, that there's something queer about John Ford. They tell a lot of stories about him, but the one most common is that he's waiting till he gets one hundred thousand dollars before starting on a tour of revenge.

"He told me himself, however, that when he had accumulated that amount he was going to find a man. But more than that he wouldn't say.

"If I were you, I wouldn't ask too many questions."

During the conversation they had covered so much ground that the roofs of Fairfax village were visible in the distance and as he noticed this, the agent drew rein, saying:

"I didn't realize we had come so far. You'd better go back, Bob. Suppose you can find the way?"

"Sure. If I can't Chester will show me, won't you, old boy?"

And in answer, as though he had understood perfectly, the dog started off in the direction of the ranch.

"I reckon you'll be safe with him," commented the agent. "Take care of yourself, Bob. And come over to see me when you can. By the way, has John said where he was going to send you?"

"Yes, over near Red Top, with his short-horns."

"You've certainly made a hit with him, Bob. That's the best and easiest berth on the ranch. Grazing's good and water plenty. You hardly have to move from one week to another. So long." And he gave the boy's hand a hearty grip. "I've wired your father of your safe arrival. When there are any letters, I'll bring them over."

And shaking out his reins, the agent galloped away.

Bob, however, did not hurry on his return to the ranch, his mind being occupied with trying to find the reason for the grizzled plainsman's evident liking for him and his kindness, so at variance with his usual manner.

But the puzzle was too difficult for him, and he finally abandoned it to dismount and practice the things the agent had taught him.

Such action at first mystified Firefly, but Bob patted and spoke to him, explaining what he was trying to do just as though he were talking to a human being.

"You and Chester and I will have many a long day and night together, so we had better be good friends right away. I've got to learn to hobble and saddle and I want to do it before I return to the ranch."

Evidently satisfied with this explanation, Firefly stood quietly, nibbling at the grass now and again, while the dog sat down and watched operations.

Having finally acquired the knack, Bob remounted and was soon at the ranch, where he turned his pony into the corral and carried his saddle to the cabin.

"Then you've learned enough to turn your pony into the corral, eh?" was Ford's greeting as Bob threw his saddle on the floor.

"Yes, sir. And to hobble and saddle and make my horse whirl when I'm mounting."

"Hal's a good friend to have," commented the ranchman. "Did he show you how to throw a rope?"

"Do you mean my lariat?"

"No, I mean rope; that's what we call it on the plains, though it means the same thing."

"No, he didn't."

"Then I will. You'll find some grub in the cupboard. Eat all you want and put the rest back."

"But aren't you going to eat with me?" asked Bob in an injured tone.

"I'd like to. But I ain't eaten with a man since——" then suddenly checking himself he stammered, "well, since twelve year ago."

Eager, indeed, was Bob to ask the reason for this custom, but, remembering Hal's warning, he restrained the question that was on his lips just as the ranchman, evidently determined to end the conversation, went outdoors.

The mention of eating recalled to Bob that it was hours since he had breakfasted, and hastily he explored the cupboard, bringing forth some crisp bacon, biscuits, cookies and pie while from the stove he took the coffee pot, then sat down to a meal that seemed, to his keen appetite, the best he had ever tasted.

As he was finishing, the ranchman came in and, when the food had been put away, took Bob out to teach him how to throw the rope.

For this purpose Ford had driven a four-foot stake into the ground. Making his pupil stand about twenty feet from it, he had him get used to whirling the rope around his head and then told him to drop the noose over the post.

At first Bob failed, but he was soon able to drop the noose over. So much accomplished, the ranchman ordered him to get his pony and try to rope the stake while riding past.

This, however, was more difficult, and Bob made more misses than "ringers."

"You can practice that on the range, Bob. We won't waste any more time here. I want to take you over to the short-horns to-night."

"You mean I'm to go on duty to-night?" asked the boy in delight.

"Exactly. Only there won't be much to do. Just keep awake in case anything happens. I'll have Merry Dick, the best of my boys, stay with you for a day or so."

The ranchman had saddled a big bay broncho when Bob saddled Firefly and, after locking the door of his cabin, they galloped away toward the west.

On the ride the plainsman gave Bob many valuable pointers about what to do if trouble broke out in the herd, and for getting along with the other cowboys.

After an hour or more of riding, they came to the herd, spread out over a quarter of a mile of plain, and rode round it till they came to where four cowboys were lolling on the grass, smoking.

Looking up lazily at the sight of their boss, when they caught a glimpse of Bob's fresh, young face they evinced a lively interest.

"Boys, this is Bob," said Ford, by way of introduction. "Bob, the homeliest of the lot is Merry Dick; the one next to him to the left is Yellow Tom; next is Shorty Flinn and the last is Crazy Ned.

"Dick, you're to go over on the West station with Bob for three days. Get some grub ready.

"Now, remember, every man Jack of you, Bob is my special friend. If you try any funny business, you'll have to settle with me; and don't forget, cowboys ain't worth near as much as a lean steer."

And without another word, this strange man wheeled his horse and rode away.



CHAPTER XXIII

BOB OVERHEARS A SECOND PLOT

Chester had accompanied Bob and Ford to the cowboys' station, and when they saw that the dog showed no signs of returning, Yellow Tom called out:

"Hey, you Ford. Take this cur of yours with you—or I won't stay on the job another minute."

The ranchman, however, either did not hear or pretended not to, and after a minute Bob said:

"Mr. Ford has given Chester to me."

"What?" chorused the cowboys, in amazement.

"I said that Mr. Ford had given Chester to me," replied Bob.

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

"Why not?"

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

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

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

"Am I dreamin' or is this tenderfoot pattin' that ornery cur?"

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

"But can you make him mind?" demanded Yellow Tom.

"Surely."

"Then stop his growlin' at me."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Ain't that Firefly you're ridin'?" asked Merry Dick, after having tried in vain to leave Bob behind by sending his own pony at a mad gallop.

"Y—yes," returned Bob. "Mr. Thomas, the station agent, bought him for me."

"Bought him?" repeated the cowboy in amazement. "You must be rollin' in money, kid. Simons said he'd never sell for less than two hundred dollars."

Bob had no idea as to the value of horseflesh, so he asked:

"Is that much to pay for a pony?"

"Much? Well, I don't know what you call much, but I do know that you can buy all the ponies you want, good ones at that, for fifty dollars."

This knowledge of the expense to which Mr. Nichols had been put to provide him with a mount, for Bob believed it was he who had ordered the agent so to do, grieved the boy and he became silent, wondering if he should not send back the one hundred dollars present in part payment.

Merry Dick, however, mistook his silence for displeasure and exclaimed:

"I don't mean Firefly ain't a good pony. He's the best within fifty mile, so you didn't get stuck."

In due course of time, they reached a spot where a few trees surrounded a spring, and there the cowboy said they would pitch camp.

With surprise, he watched Bob hobble his pony and then rub him down, observing:

"I reckon you ain't so green as you make out."

Ignoring the left-handed compliment, Bob asked:

"What do I have to do with the cattle?"

"Mighty little, so long as you have the dog with you. He's as good as any cowboy." And then Merry Dick explained that Bob's duties lay in riding around and driving back the cattle that strayed from the herd, especially in the morning, and in case of a stampede, than which there is nothing more dreaded by cowboys, in outrunning the leaders and changing their direction, yelling and waving arms, until the frenzied animals are made to tire themselves out traveling in a circle.

The hours till twilight passed quickly with the stories the cowboy told of experiences he had had and had heard, in both of which he did not hesitate to draw freely on his imagination.

As the sunset bathed the plains in a glorious red, the two rode out and drove the straggling cattle back to the herd, and then Merry Dick showed Bob how to boil coffee over a bed of coals and fry bacon by holding it on a fork.

As night fell, many sounds reached the boy's ears, but none scared him except the melancholy howl of the coyotes.

Without incident the hours of darkness passed and the two days that Merry Dick was with him, and, on the third, Ford rode over to see how they were getting along.

"He'll do," announced the cowboy, nodding toward Bob.

"Then you can go back to the others," returned his boss, who remained with the boy.

Day followed day with monotonous regularity, and many a time Bob was glad of the dog's company. Several times Thomas came to see him, bringing letters from both Mr. Perkins and Mr. Nichols and taking back Bob's answers, which told of his experiences, gratitude for their assistance, and delight in his new life.

Once a week, Ford came to bring his food, a signal mark of favor, for the ranch cooks supplied the others. And as month after month passed, Bob developed wonderfully. The free, outdoor life made his muscles like steel and the responsibility and solitude matured him, so that instead of the rather timid boy who had stepped from the limited that morning, he was a powerful, self-reliant young man.

Realizing this and feeling his desire growing stronger, at the end of the sixth month to learn the truth about his father when Ford paid him, Bob asked if he could ride over to Red Top for a day.

In reply to the ranchman's question as to the reason, he said he wanted to find out about a man.

At this answer, Ford scanned his face closely, but, unable to read its expression, gave his permission, provided he took the dog, saying he would stand Bob's tour of duty.

His heart agog, Bob was on his way early the next morning, the faithful Chester at his side.

The village of Red Top was similar to Fairfax, but being the location of the Land Office was of more importance. As the boy, accompanied by the dog passed along the one street of the town, they attracted much attention, for many of the people recognized Chester.

Drawing rein, Bob dismounted at the store, went inside and asked where he could find out who owned property in the town fifteen years ago.

The interest of the loungers in the boy was no whit lessened by this question and several of them chorused:

"The Land Office, right next door."

Thanking them collectively, Bob went out, leaving the idlers to speculate over his identity and purpose.

But though he found the Land Office without difficulty, he could make neither head nor tail out of the records.

Noticing the perplexity on his face, the clerk, a kindly-faced, gray-haired man, asked him for what he was searching.

"To see if Horace Chester ever owned any property in Red Top."

"I can tell you that without looking," replied the clerk. "He had one of the best ranches in Oklahoma. It was good when he died. But it's worth ten times as much now."

This information set Bob's head in a whirl, and for some minutes he could not speak, but when he did, he asked hesitatingly:

"Was he—was he crazy?"

"Crazy? well, I should say not!" ejaculated the clerk, staring at Bob in wonder.

"Who owns the property now?"

"A. Leon Dardus."

"How'd he get it?"

"By will. There was a long legal battle between Sam and John Ford and Dardus. But Dardus finally won."

"Where is the ranch?"

"Twenty miles south of here. Jim Haskins hires it."

At these surprising answers, Bob's heart seemed to come up in his throat, stifling his speech. But noticing that his questions had aroused the clerk's curiosity, he hurriedly left the office.

Needing time to think, the boy hastened along till he came to a building which served as a saloon, diningroom and gambling den.

Attracted by the food sign, he entered, took a seat near a partition, and ordered some pork and beans.

But before it was brought, he had forgotten about eating. From behind the partition, loud voices were audible and he caught the word "Ford."

Listening intently, he heard a voice say:

"Sure, we can do it! I've got the papers all ready, old Sam Ford's signature and all. Just pass over that two thousand five hundred dollars, and I'll give them to you."

"But suppose Ford fights us in court?" exclaimed another voice.

"He won't do that!" growled a third. "Leave it to me!"

"Now, Bill, there's to be no——"

But before Bob could catch the last word, the waiter came in with his pork and beans and, noticing that the boy was listening with head close to the partition, shouted:

"What you listenin' to? That don't go in Red Top!"

And dropping his dishes, he leaped for Bob, just as the men behind the partition, who had heard the waiter's angry words, struggled to get through the door.

Realizing he was no match for so many, Bob took to his heels, the others in pursuit.

As he dashed from the restaurant, Chester leaped to his feet and, back bristling, jaws distended, faced the pursuers.

"That's Ford's dog!" gasped the waiter. "That fellow must have been one of his men!"

The commotion had attracted the attention of the loungers in the store and as they hurried to the street, the conspirators, pointing to Bob, yelled:

"Stop him! Stop him!"

But Bob, paying no heed, raced to where Firefly stood, vaulted into his saddle and, with the dog at his heels, dashed up the street.



CHAPTER XXIV

A RACE FOR LIFE

Believing the men who tried to stop Bob must have been robbed, several of those about the store leaped onto their horses and gave chase.

Meantime, the conspirators, balked in their attempt to prevent the boy's escape, held a consultation.

"If that is one of Ford's men, our goose is cooked," snarled one of them.

"Well, it is, right enough. Don't you remember hearing about the kid Ford gave his dog to?"

Too well did they remember, for the story of Bob's call at the ranch had traveled far and wide.

"What's to be done, then?" asked the first speaker.

"Get him!" growled the others.

So well did these men understand one another that no explanation of this remark was necessary, and without more ado they hastened to the stable back of the saloon, ordered their horses, and were soon riding after Bob at top speed.

Anticipating that he would be chased, the boy had urged Firefly into a mad gallop, desirous of getting as long a start as possible. And well it was that he did, for so mettlesome were the horses of the conspirators that, despite the start the loungers had, they quickly overhauled them.

"Which way did he go?" demanded the ringleader, as he rode alongside.

"To Ford's."

"What's wrong? What did he do? How much did he get?" demanded others of the volunteer posse.

But the conspirators were not eager to go into detail, and their leader said:

"This is a private matter. We are obliged to you gentlemen for trying to stop that boy. But we won't trouble you to ride farther. We are quite able to attend to this business ourselves."

Such an abrupt dismissal, however, only piqued the curiosity of the volunteers the more, and noting this the conspirators clapped spurs to their ponies and soon left them behind.

From time to time, as he raced across the plains, Bob had looked back. With satisfaction, he noted that he more than held his own with the pursuers. But when he saw the four men pass the leaders as though the others were standing still, he urged Firefly to greater speed.

Gamely the pony responded, increasing Bob's lead still more, and the boy noted from landmarks that he was only about two miles from his station. Then suddenly Firefly stumbled, hurling Bob over his head.

Picking himself up, the boy, stopping only to ascertain that he himself was not injured, ran back to his pony. But as he saw the horse his heart sank.

Firefly had stepped in a prairie-dog hole and broken his leg.

From his moaning Bob realized the pony was in great pain, and for a moment he stood undecided what to do. Then a hoarse shout of triumph raised by the conspirators reached his ears, and, gritting his teeth, Bob pulled out his revolver, placed it against Firefly's head and pulled the trigger.

Already he had lost precious minutes and, waiting only to make sure he had put his faithful pony out of misery, he once more started toward his station, leaping and bounding through the high grass as best he could.

Not far had he gone, however, before he realized that unless he could make greater speed, his pursuers would soon overtake him.

But the prospect did not daunt him and, as his danger became greater, his brain became clearer.

Apparently without effort, Chester was bounding over the plains. Noting this, an idea flashed into Bob's mind and he called the dog to him.

As he approached, Bob took a firm grip with his right hand in the mass of hair on Chester's shoulders, exclaiming:

"You've got to help me run, boy. Now don't go too fast. Remember, I can't leap the way you do."

And, as though understanding, the dog moderated his gait and together they tore through the grass.

Yet so uneven was the race that Bob would certainly have been captured had not aid come from an unexpected quarter.

So still was the air that the report of Bob's shot had carried to the ears of John Ford who, sensing trouble, was riding slowly toward Red Top to meet the lad.

Shooting not being common on the plains thereabouts, no sooner had he heard the report than he clapped spurs to his horse and dashed in its direction, and not far had he ridden before he caught sight of Bob and Chester and their pursuers.

At a glance, he realized that the boy was in great danger, and grinding his teeth savagely, he rode at him like mad, from time to time shouting to Bob to keep up courage.

But the plucky boy saw and recognized his employer long before he heard his reassuring words, and the sight lent him fresh strength.

The pursuers also saw Ford and redoubled their efforts to reach Bob first. But the terrific pace was telling on their mounts and they made little progress.

With a yell of exultation, Ford reached Bob, gave him a hand and lifted him up behind to the saddle, asking:

"What are they after you for?"

"Because I wanted to warn you!" answered Bob, and hurriedly he related all he had overheard and the incidents of the pursuit.

As he listened to the story, the ranchman's face grew terrible to behold. And as it was finished, he sat in silence a moment, then fairly hissed:

"My law is not 'an eye for an eye' or 'a tooth for a tooth.' But four eyes for an eye!"

For an instant only was Bob mystified by this speech.

Swinging his rifle from his back to his shoulder with incredible rapidity, Ford fired four shots in quick succession. And after each shot, one of the conspirator's horses fell.

"So much for Firefly, though I wouldn't take the four for him!" snarled the ranchman. "Now for the men! Oh, no! I'm not going to shoot them," he added, noting the look of horror on Bob's face. "I intend to capture them and hand them over to the law. You're lighter than I am, so you take my pony and ride for the boys. I'll stay here and keep track of those scoundrels. They won't be able to walk far."

Even as he spoke, Ford slipped from the saddle, and Bob taking his place dashed away for the other cowboys.

By good fortune, he found them at the end of their range nearest the scene of trouble, and no urging did they need to ride to their employer's assistance when they had heard Bob's story.

Divining the purpose of the boy's departure, the conspirators had separated and then sought to hide themselves in the long grass. But the ranchman had kept watch of their general direction, and as his boys rode up, ordered them to advance abreast toward the spot where the scoundrels had disappeared.

As they approached, Ford shouted:

"If you men will surrender, we won't hurt you! But if you fire so much as one shot, we'll kindle the prairie and roast you!"

For a moment after this terrible alternative was pronounced there was silence and the conspirators made no move. Then one by one they stood up, glowering with awful hatred at Bob.

"Hands up!" commanded Ford. "That's the way! Now, boys, take their guns and knives, then bind their hands behind their backs and each carry one behind you. We're going to take them to Red Top jail."

While his cowboys were obeying his instructions with no gentle hands, Ford mounted his horse, keeping Bob behind him.

After the troop was under way, the ranchman asked:

"What made you take such a chance for me, boy?"

"Because you were a friend of my father!" replied Bob simply.

"What?" exclaimed Ford, turning so suddenly that he almost unseated the boy.

"My name isn't Bob Nichols, Mr. Ford. It's Bob Chester!"

"Then I wasn't wrong! I wasn't wrong!" murmured the ranchman. And the next moment he was hugging Bob to his breast, sobbing over him and caressing him.

The sight of their stern, unemotional employer weeping like a woman over Bob astounded the cowboys, and eagerly they closed around him, though they were too impressed by the scene to speak.

But as soon as he recovered his composure, Ford exclaimed:

"Boys, Bob is the son of the best friend I ever had—Horace Chester. I was struck by the resemblance when I first laid eyes on him. When he told me his name, I thought I must be mistaken. But Chester knew better. That's why the dog took to him. He recognized the blood.

"And now you all ride on. Bob and I want to talk."

Reluctantly the cowboys obeyed and when they were out of hearing, Bob spoke, giving a detailed account of the reasons why he had come to Fairfax, the experiences through which he had passed while on the way, his discoveries about his father's property, and finally showed the ranchman the precious letter.

"And Leon Dardus kept you at drudgery, denying you your money, even trying to make you believe your father was insane!" remarked Ford, as the narration ended. "I knew he was a villain. That will is a forgery, Bob. We'll get back the property for you, never fear. Dardus may have money. But your friends Perkins and Nichols have more. I made a vow when Dardus beat me on the will that when I had one hundred thousand dollars I'd track him down and solve this mystery. But now it won't be necessary to wait.

"Right will conquer, every time, Bob!"



CHAPTER XXV

FROM RANCH TO RICHES

Bob asked many questions about his father on the ride to Red Top, learning that he had died from pneumonia; that his mother had died soon after Bob was born, and that it had been his father's dying request that he be sent to New York, where he could grow up and receive the education he himself had been denied. But their arrival at Red Top put an end to their conversation and they turned to the matter at hand.

As the citizens saw Bob's pursuers return captives they were amazed, and when they learned the reason they expressed in no uncertain terms their anger at having been made to chase an innocent boy.

At the jail, the forged deed and other papers that were to be used in stealing John Ford's ranch away from him were found on the prisoners and were filed away to be used against them at the trial.

To one or two of his firm friends, the ranchman introduced Bob, and sincere were their expressions of delight both at meeting him and in knowing that he was to come into his own. Ford, however, swore them to silence, for there were some of the townsfolk who had supported Dardus in his lawsuit, and neither the ranchman nor Bob wished a word of his presence to leak out till they had perfected their plans for bringing the dishonest guardian to book.

"But your boys know it, John, and so do the prisoners," asserted one of these friends.

"My boys won't talk about it," declared the ranchman. "I'll see to that. If the prisoners do, you all can say the story is absurd, probably another of their plots to steal another ranch."

This decided, the grizzled plainsman summoned his cowboys, explained the situation briefly, and offered them a year's wages for their silence, which they promised when Bob added his entreaties.

But to prevent any possible miscarriage of their plans, Bob wrote his discoveries to Mr. Nichols, mailing the letter before he left Red Top. These details attended to, Ford borrowed a horse for Bob, and they set out for the home ranch, which they reached in due course.

Leaving Merry Dick on Bob's station, Ford and Bob rode on to Fairfax, where they held a long consultation with the station agent, at which it was decided that Bob and the ranchman should both go on to New York to obtain restitution from Len Dardus. And, with much hurrying, they prepared to leave Fairfax the next night.

Thomas asked and obtained permission from Mr. Nichols for the east-bound limited to stop at the way-station, and when Higgins and the others saw the ranchman and Bob on the platform, they were consumed with curiosity.

"Kidnappin' John?" asked Higgins of Bob.

But no satisfaction did he receive, the boy replying:

"My sentiments about answering questions haven't changed since the first morning we met, Mr. Higgins."

And while the others were laughing at their crony's discomfiture, the train arrived and the two travelers boarded it, with the well wishes of the agent ringing in their ears.

At Kansas City Mr. Nichols joined them, saying he had decided to go on to New York, where they would meet Mr. Perkins, both being determined to bring Bob into his own.

A happy party they made, Bob recounting his experiences, Ford adding his dry comments, and Mr. Nichols enjoying the boy's development and manliness.

As they were rehearsing the story for the twentieth time, Mr. Nichols asked:

"Have you learned, Bob, who the man with the scar is?"

"What sort of a scar?" demanded the ranchman, before the boy could answer. And as Bob described it, he exclaimed:

"That's Knuckles, your father's old foreman!"

"Good. I'll find him and take him back with me," returned Bob; "that is, if things come out right."

"Don't worry about that," smiled Mr. Nichols knowingly. And when they arrived in New York and met Mr. Perkins, these words were explained, for Bob's patrons had set detectives at work and had learned all there was to be learned about Len Dardus, even to the banks in which he kept his money, and how much he had.

After holding a consultation and marshaling their evidence, it was decided to call in two members of the city detective force, and upon their arrival, the party set out for the grocery store where Bob had passed so many unhappy days.

No one was about when the six men entered, and, leaving Bob alone, the others withdrew to the corners of the store where the shadows practically hid them.

The proprietor had heard the footsteps, however, and shuffled from his private office.

No farther did he get than the threshold before he saw and recognized Bob.

"You!" he gasped, turning pale. "What do you want here?"

"I want the money you have stolen from me, Len Dardus! I want my father's ranch in Red Top back. I want you to say you lied when you said my father was crazy when he died!"

The tone in which the boy spoke was cold and bitter. Yet, instead of terrifying the storekeeper, it caused him to laugh as he exclaimed: "You can't blackmail me, you ungrateful young wretch! Get out of here, before I call the police! I steal your money, indeed! Insanity seems to run in the Chester family!"

"Do you think so, Len Dardus?" demanded the ranchman, suddenly emerging from the shadow.

"John Ford!" gasped the storekeeper, his bravado deserting him at the sight of this friend of Bob's father.

"Yes; John Ford," retorted the ranchman in a voice that cut like steel. "You remember when you won your lawsuit with that will you forged? I told you I should trap you some day. That day has come!"

At these words, the others stepped forth.

From one to another, Dardus looked, then demanded in a terrified voice:

"What—what do you want?"

"We want justice for Bob Chester," said Mr. Perkins.

"We want you to give him every cent you have in bank except the five hundred dollars you had when Horace Chester died. We want you to sign this paper admitting that you forged the will bequeathing you the ranch in Red Top. We want you to acknowledge you lied when you told Bob his father was insane."

"And if I refuse?"

"You go to jail, and we take the money and ranch."

"But I have no money," whimpered Dardus.

"Lying won't help you. We know every cent you have in bank and where it is. Here's the confession, sign it first."

Glancing from one to another, the storekeeper seemed to seek an avenue of escape.

"Officers, if this man does not sign this paper within two minutes, arrest him," exclaimed Mr. Perkins.

Quickly the detectives moved one to either side of Len Dardus.

"All right, I'll sign," he moaned, sinking into a chair.

And, after reading the words admitting his guilt, he affixed his name.

"Now, tell Bob you lied to him about his father."

"Horace—Chester—was—not—insane."

"Good, I am glad you are reasonable. Now, come with us in our automobile and withdraw the money you have in the banks."

Realizing resistance was vain, Dardus obeyed.

At each bank the boy's benefactors compared their private notes with the amounts the storekeeper withdrew, and, when the task was ended, Bob had fifty thousand dollars in addition to the ranch.

As they emerged from the last bank, however, they did not take the storekeeper into their car, but left him standing on the steps, the picture of woe.

"Now, we'll have a good dinner," announced Mr. Nichols.

During the meal the men who had been so kind to Bob asked him what he intended to do.

"Go back to the ranch and live with John Ford," was the boy's ready reply.

"Yes. We're going into partnership," added the grizzled plainsman.

"And whenever you want a rest or some hunting, there'll be two ranches at your disposal," chimed in Bob, to the railroad magnates.

Before the boy returned to the West, he gave a hundred-dollar bill to Nellie Porter, the waitress who had befriended him, and he also found Knuckles, who was overjoyed to resume his position as foreman of the Chester ranch.

The firm of Ford & Chester prospered. Many times did Mr. Perkins and Mr. Nichols, as well as Jack Foster, the reporter, visit the partners, continuing to exercise a kindly interest in their welfare, and especially the welfare of Bob Chester.



* * * * *

Transcriber's Notes:

Punctuation normalized.

Varied capitalization on "the limited/the Limited" retained.

Page 80, "flee-bitten" changed to "flea-bitten."

THE END