Bob Chester's Grit/Chapter 20
CHAPTER XX
BOB BECOMES OWNER OF A DOG
Interestedly Bob gazed about him as he entered, for the first time in his life, the home of a ranchman. At the left of the door, a bunk, covered with brilliant-colored blankets which, had the boy known they were the handiwork of Indians, would have interested him greatly extended from the wall. Above this crude bed was a rack holding three rifles and several revolvers. On the opposite side of the room were a cupboard and table, while in the rear was. another cupboard, and a stove. A rocking and two straightbacked chairs completed the furnishings.
Just what Bob had expected to find in the cabin he could not have told, but its severity and barrenness disappointed him.
"Sit down," grunted the ranchman, motioning Bob to one of the straight-backed chairs while he himself sank into the rocker.
As Bob obeyed, the dog stretched himself at his feet.
Searchingly the ranchman scanned the boy's face, and the silence was becoming embarrassing when Ford broke it by demanding suddenly:
"What did you say your name was?"
"Bob Nichols."
"Where do you come from?"
"New York."
This answer caused the ranchman to sit up straight and again scrutinize the boy's features, as he asked:
"Got any folks?"
"No, sir."
"Live alone in New York?"
"No, sir. With my guardian."
"What made you come out here?"
"I wanted to be a cowboy and make my fortune."
"Cow punching ain't a paved highway to riches."
"But you are rich, aren't you?"
At this leading question, the grizzled man of the plains scowled, a suspicion of Bob's purpose in seeking a job with him flashing into his mind as he replied:
"Mebbe I am and mebbe I ain't. What made you think I was?"
"Mr. Higgins and the other men said you were."
"Huh! them fellows had better mind their own business," grunted the ranchman; but the ingenuous reply and the open honesty of the boy's face banished his suspicions, and he continued his questioning.
The length to which the catechising extended amazed Bob, in view of what he had been told and had read in regard to not asking questions, and he made his replies as brief as possible, taking good care to give only the most general information about himself.
Perceiving this, Ford finally asked:
"How much wages do you want?"
"I'll leave that to you, Mr. Ford. As I don't know anything about ranching, I don't expect much and I'm willing to trust you to do what is right."
This confidence in his squareness appealed more to the ranchman than anything else Bob could have said or done.
Leading the life of a recluse as he did and assuming a manner of forbidding austerity when forced to meet his fellows, the man had been endowed by them with a reputation for close—if not sharp—dealing, and this trust in him evinced by the boy moved him deeply, and with a voice in which there was a half sob, he returned:
"You won't lose by leaving the matter of wages to me, boy. Don't you worry about that, no matter what Ned Higgins or his cronies tell you."
"I shall not discuss my affairs with outsiders," replied Bob with seriousness that brought a smile to the plainsman's face.
"Good! Now, let's get down to business. Can you ride?"
"No. But I can learn."
"You'll have to. A man on a ranch who can't ride is about as useless as a rifle without cartridges. Let's see, you'll need a safe pony to learn on. I guess I'll let you try old Sox. He never was mean and he still has some speed. Pick up that saddle there," and he pointed to what is called a Mexican saddle, which has a high pommel and back; "the bridle is tied to it, and we'll go out to the corral. You ought to get so you can do pretty well by night. You've got to, because I need another puncher with my short-horn herd over by Red Top."
The thought that he was to be stationed close to the town that might hold secrets of the greatest importance to himself so excited Bob that his hands trembled as he seized the saddle.
Attributing this action to fear of the broncho, Ford said:
"You sure ain't scared of riding a pony when you faced Chester, are you?"
"No, I'm not"
"Then why are you trembling so?"
"Oh, because I'm so happy at having found a job, I guess," dissembled Bob. And then, in order to direct the ranchman's attention from himself, he asked:
"Why do you call your dog Chester?"
This question served Bob's purpose better than he could have desired, for it caused the grizzled plainsman to start suddenly.
Instantly recovering himself, however, he countered by demanding sharply:
"What makes you ask that?"
"Because it's such a queer name for a dog."
"Well, he's a queer dog," returned Ford tersely. "Now, come along with that saddle."
As though aware of their purpose, the dog had preceded them from the cabin, but as Ford and Bob stepped forth, he stopped, began to sniff the air and then emitted a long, low growl.
"Somebody's coming," announced the ranchman, pausing and following the direction of the wolfhound's gaze.
Eagerly Bob did the same, and in a few moments beheld a man riding a horse and leading another.
Instantly it flashed to the boy's mind that the horseman was his friend the station agent, who, having learned his destination, had followed, and he exclaimed:
"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.