one behind you. We're going to take them to Red Top jail."
While his cowboys were obeying his instructions with no gentle hands, Ford mounted his horse, keeping Bob behind him.
After the troop was under way, the ranchman asked:
"What made you take such a chance for me, boy?"
"Because you were a friend of my father!" replied Bob simply.
"What?" exclaimed Ford, turning so suddenly that he almost unseated the boy.
"My name isn't Bob Nichols, Mr. Ford. It's Bob Chester!"
"Then I wasn't wrong! I wasn't wrong!" murmured the ranchman. And the next moment he was hugging Bob to his breast, sobbing over him and caressing him.
The sight of their stern, unemotional employer weeping like a woman over Bob astounded the cowboys, and eagerly they closed around him, though they were too impressed by the scene to speak.
But as soon as he recovered his composure, Ford exclaimed:
"Boys, Bob is the son of the best friend I ever had—Horace Chester. I was struck by the resemblance when I first laid eyes on him. When
