"He is. We were afraid that perhaps he might have gotten into trouble with the bear."
"Quite likely. Do you plan on going back with the guide that we get for you?"
"Certainly."
"Then you will need a fresh, pony. I will have one brought around for you when you are ready to start. I should think, however, that it would be best for you to remain over until tomorrow. You'll be lamed up for sure."
"No, I must go back. I'll be lame all right, but it won't be the first time. I'm lame and sore now. I've polished that saddle so you could skate on it already," laughed Ned.
Mr. Simms laughed.
"I can understand that quite easily. I've been in the saddle a good share of my life, too. There comes the foreman now."
The foreman of the Simms ranch, who bore the euphonious name of Luke Larue, was a product of the West. Six feet tall, straight, muscular, with piercing gray eyes that looked out at one from beneath heavy eyelashes, Ned instinctively recognized him as a man calculated to inspire confidence.
He shook hands with the young man cordially, sweeping him with a quick, comprehensive glance.
Mr. Simms briefly related all that Ned Rector had told him, and the foreman glanced at the young man with renewed interest after learning of the ride he had taken that morning.