Patches looked at him in confused embarrassment.
"Don't you know that you saved my life?" asked Phil dryly.
"But—but, I killed a good horse for the Dean," stammered Patches.
To which the Dean's foreman returned with a grin, "I reckon Uncle Will can stand the loss—considering."
This relieved the tension, and they laughed together.
"But tell me something, Patches," said Phil, curiously. "Why didn't you shoot the bull when he charged me?"
"I didn't think of it," admitted Patches. "I didn't really think of anything."
The cowboy nodded with understanding approval. "I've noticed that the man to tie to, in sudden trouble, is the man who doesn't have to think; the man, I mean, who just does the right thing instinctively, and waits to think about it afterwards when there's time."
Patches was pleased. "I did the right thing, then?"
"It was the only thing you could do to save my life," returned Phil seriously. "If you had tried to use your gun—even if you could have managed to hit him—you wouldn't have stopped him in time. If you had been where you could have put a bullet between his eyes, it might have worked, but"—he smiled again—"I'm mighty glad you didn't think to try any experiments. Tell me something else," he added. "Did you realize the chance you were taking for yourself?"