He said this impressively, leaning a little toward the giant, and he was rewarded infinitely by seeing the right hand of the giant stir a little toward the holster at his thigh.
"I guess I'd have to take my chance with him," was all Bull answered in his mildest tone.
Tod was beginning to guess that there was a certain amount of mental strength under this quiet exterior. He had often noted that his father, who made by far the most noise, was more easily placated than his mother, in spite of her gentle silences. The strength of Bull Hunter had a strain of the same thing about it.
"You'd take a chance with Hal Dunbar?" he repeated wonderingly. He trembled a little, with a sort of nervous ecstasy at the thought of that coming encounter. "That's more'n anybody else in these parts would do. Why, everybody's heard about Hal Dunbar. Everybody's scared of him. He can ride anything that's big enough to carry him; he can fight like a wildcat with his hands; and he can shoot like"—his eye wandered toward a superlative—"like Pete Reeve, almost," he concluded with a tone of awe.
A spark of tenderness shone in the eye of Bull. "D'you know Pete
Reeve?"
"No, and I don't want to. Ma had a brother once, and he met up with
Pete Reeve."
A tragedy was inferred in that oblique reference. Bull decided that this was a conversational topic on which he must remain silent, and yet he yearned to speak of the little withered catlike fellow with the wise brain who had done so much for him.
"When I'm big enough," mused the boy with a quiet savagery, "maybe
I'll meet up with Pete Reeve."
Bull switched the talk to a more comfortable topic. "But how'd you make a start with that man-eating Diablo?"
Tod studied, the question. "I got a way with hosses, you see," he began modestly.