“You must know,” he said to Gus, one night, “that horses and dogs are a good deal like the people among whom they live, and seem to share in their likes and dislikes. An Indian’s dog or pony has no more affection for a white man than his master has; while a white man’s dog or pony will raise an awful row, if a redskin shows his ugly face over a hill, anywhere within smelling or seeing distance of him.” But Gus did not place so much confidence in the mustang as his owner did, and he could not sleep. He lay awake almost every night, starting at the least unusual sound, and was always greatly relieved when morning came. It was so gloomy and lonely on the prairie after dark, and the wolves howled so mournfully! Gus was growing heartily tired of this sort of life, and although his companion assured him that they were making good time now, and rapidly nearing their journey’s end, he was continually urging him to go faster. How his heart bounded, when Mose one day said, in reply to this request: “There is no need of it. We are almost there. When we reach the top of the next swell, you can see the rancho.” Just then a horseman made his appearance on the summit of the swell of which Mose had spoken, and after gazing steadily at them for a moment, came forward at a rapid gallop. There was no need that Gus should ask who he was, for he knew as soon as he saw him that it was Ned Ackerman. He galloped on ahead to meet him, and if one might judge by the way the two boys greeted each other, they were very glad to meet again. They had a multitude of questions to ask and answer, and Mose, seeing that they were too fully occupied with their own affairs to pay any attention to him, rode on and left them alone. “I declare, Ned, you’re a nobby-looking fellow!” exclaimed Gus, running his eye over his friend’s neat suit of “working clothes,” and glancing from the stylish, high-stepping horse he rode to his own shaggy, ill-conditioned mustang, “and you ride as though you had lived in the saddle all your life. I see you have a rifle, too! Is that the one you killed the grizzly bears with? There goes Mose over the swell, out of sight; hadn’t we better ride on? By the way, what has become of the Indians? You must have had fearful times here since you wrote!” “There are no Indians at all about here,” was Ned’s reassuring reply. “They have bothered the settlers in the next county above a good deal, but we have seen nothing of them. It’s the Mexicans who troubled us.” “Did you have a fight with them?” “I should say so!” exclaimed Ned. “I’ve got so now that I don’t care——”