rtake him. Then it flashed through his mind that this might
be the ranchman's way of "trying out" strangers who came to his door,
and the boy determined to stand his ground.

"I'll show them that a 'tenderfoot' has some courage," Bob said, as he
braced himself for the impact when the dog should leap upon him.

All the while, he had been steadily looking into the dog's eyes, and
just as the creature was upon him the same power that had urged him to
come to the Ford ranch seemed to tell him to speak to the animal.

"Steady, boy! Steady! I'm not going to do any harm here," he exclaimed.

Whether in surprise at the boy's unusual procedure in facing him--most
callers at the ranch either hastened away or yelled to Ford to call off
his dog--or what, the beast hesitated before his last leap that would
have brought him on top of Bob and then, beginning to prance playfully,
he approached fawningly.

"Good boy! That's the way. We ought to be good friends, you and I. Come
here," exclaimed Bob, and as the dog came up, he patted his head
caressingly.

The boy's relief was so great at finding the savage beast did not
attempt to tear him limb from limb that he failed to notice the door of
the red-roofed cabin open and a grizzled head emerge.

But the next instant the presence of the man was called to his attention
by a terrific roar:

"Chester!"

Amazed at hearing his name, Bob gazed open-mouthed toward the house.

By this time, the man had come out onto the ground and the boy beheld a
tall, spare-boned man, with weather-tanned face, a scrubby beard, and a
mass of tousled hair.

The dog, however, paid no heed to the voice, rubbing against Bob and
licking his hands.

Again came the bellow.

"Chester! Come here!"

Too alarmed by the imperiousness of the tone to wonder how the secret of
his identity could be known by this man of the plains, Bob called:

"Yes, sir. Right away, sir."

But if the hearing of his name had caused Bob surprise, his response
created more in the man.

"Oh! It's not you I want!" he yelled. "It's that fool dog! Come here,
sir!"

But the dog obeyed no better than before.

A moment the ranchman glared at it, his face terrible in its anger, then
dropped his hand to his hip and drew forth a revolver.

Divining his intention, Bob leaped in front of the dog, exclaiming:

"Don't shoot, sir! The dog has done nothing!"

"Done nothing, eh? I suppose you call making friends with a stranger
nothing.