"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:
