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Well, he was in good hands now. Billy Cody would see him through.

“We’ll strike the Salt Creek Valley to-morrow morning,” announced Billy. “Hurrah! I’ll get my pay order to-night, so we can cut away to-morrow without any waiting.”

The morning was yet young when Billy pointed ahead.

“When we get over this hill we’ll see where I live, Red. It’s yonder, on the other side.”

The trail was ascending a long hill. From the top Billy waved his hat.

“There’s the Salt Creek Valley. I can see the house, too. That’s it, down below. Goodby, everybody. Come on, Red.” And with a whoop away raced Billy down the hill.

As he rode he whistled shrill.

“Watch for Turk,” he cried to Red, galloping behind. And presently he cried again: “There he comes! I knew he would!”

Sure enough, from the house, before and below, near the trail, out had darted a dog, to stand a moment, listening and peering—then, head up and ears pricked, to line himself at full speed for Billy. On he scoured (what a big fellow he was when he drew near), while Billy whistled and shouted and laughed and praised.