to see if the yellow dog
were following him. At first Bartley thought the dog had shown wisdom
and had departed for San Andreas, but, happening to glance down on the
other side of his horse, he saw the dog trotting along, close to Dobe's
heels.

Bartley felt a pity for the dog's dumb, insistent attachment. Reining
in, Bartley told the dog he had better go home. For answer the dog lay
down in the horse's shadow, his head on his paws, and his eyes fixed on
Bartley's face. He did not seem to know what the words meant. But he did
know--only pretended he did not. His rooftree was the Arizona sky, and
his home the place where his adopted master camped at night.

"Oh, very well," said Bartley, smiling in spite of himself.

That noon they stopped at a ranch where Bartley had dinner and fed his
horse. Cheyenne had passed that way several days ago, the ranch folk
told him. It was about twenty miles to the next town. Bartley was
invited to stop by and spend the night, but he declined the invitation,
even as they had declined to accept money for their hospitality.
Meanwhile the dog had disappeared. He had not followed Bartley into the
ranch. And it was some twenty minutes or so after Bartley was on the
road again that he discovered the dog, coming round a bend on the run.
There was no getting rid of him.

The dog, who had often been chased from ranches by other dogs, had at
first waited patiently for Bartley to appear. Then, as Bartley did not
appear, the dog made a short scout through the near-by brush. Finally he
stirred up a rabbit. It was a long, hard chase, but the dog got his
dinner. Then, circling, he took up Bartley's trail from the ranch,
overtaking him with grim determination not to lose sight of him again.

Arriving at the town of Stacey early that afternoon, Bartley arranged
with the local liveryman for the dog's keep that night. From that night
on, the dog never let Dobe out of his sight. It was evidently intended
that he should sleep in stalls and guard Dobe against the approach of
any one save his master.

Bartley learned that Cheyenne had passed through Stacey headed south. He
had stopped at the local store to purchase provisions. Estimating
roughly, Bartley was making better time than had Cheyenne, yet it would
be several days before he could possibly overtake him.

Next day Bartley had ridden better than forty miles, and that night he
stayed at a ranch, where he was made welcome. In fact, any one who rode