“When we get over this hill we’ll see where I live, Red. It’s yonder, on the other side.”
The trail was ascending a long hill. From the top Billy waved his hat.
“There’s the Salt Creek Valley. I can see the house, too. That’s it, down below. Goodby, everybody. Come on, Red.” And with a whoop away raced Billy down the hill.
As he rode he whistled shrill.
“Watch for Turk,” he cried to Red, galloping behind. And presently he cried again: “There he comes! I knew he would!”
Sure enough, from the house, before and below, near the trail, out had darted a dog, to stand a moment, listening and peering—then, head up and ears pricked, to line himself at full speed for Billy. On he scoured (what a big fellow he was when he drew near), while Billy whistled and shouted and laughed and praised.
When they met, Billy flung himself from his saddle for a moment, and he and the big dog wrestled in sheer delight.
“Isn’t he a dandy?” called Billy to Red. “Smartest old fellow in Kansas. He saved my sisters’ lives once from a panther. I’d rather have him than a man any time.”
They rode on, with Turk gambolling beside them. He was a brindled boar hound, looking like a Great Dane.
Now Turk raced ahead, as if to carry the news; and several people had emerged from the house and were gathered before the door gazing. Billy waved his big hat, and they waved back. They were a woman and four girls.