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I paid Roth for that gun I swiped " "You steal the gun?" "Well, it wa'n't jest stealin' it. Roth he never paid me no wages, so when I lit out I took her along and writ him it was for wages." "Then why did you pay him?" Pete frowned. "I dunno." Montoya nodded. He stooped and fumbled in a pack. Pete wondered what the old man was hunting for.
"You're wastin' good time with that outfit," and he gestured with his thumb toward the sheep. "Oh, I dunno. José Montoya ain't so slow with a gun." Andy White laughed. "Old Crux ain't a bad old scout but you ain't a Mexican. Anybody can see that!" "Well, just for fun suppose I was." "It would be different," said Andy. "You're white, all right!" "Meanin' my catchin' your cayuse.
Ole José Montoya always said to do your practicin' by yourself, and then nobody knows just how you would play your hand." Bailey frowned and nodded. "Well, seein' as I'm in on it, Pete, I'd kind of like to know myself." "Why, I'm jest figurin' that some day mebby somebody'll want to hang my hide on the fence. I don't aim to let him." "Meanin' Gary?" "The same.
While still in plain sight of the group about the store, and as Montoya plodded slowly along behind the burros, Pete turned and launched his parthian shot that eloquently expressive gesture of contempt and scorn wherein is employed the thumb, the nose, and the outspread fingers of one hand. He was still very much a boy.
Each night the sheep were headed for this pass and worked through, one at a time, stringing down the trail below which was steep and sandy. At the cañon bottom was water and across the shallows were the bedding-grounds and the camp. Pete, drowsing in the sun, occasionally glanced up at the flock. He saw no need for standing up, as Montoya always did when out with the band.
This check seems to have galled Montoya, who gives the impression of being a rancorous gossip, and, before leaving the court, he repeated a malignant rumour derived he knew not whence to the effect that Luis de Leon's father had enjoined his son to be submissive to his superiors and to follow the current opinion in matters intellectual.
Pete had said, although he believed the storekeeper. Pete wanted to hear more. "Most Mexicans ain't," replied Roth, for Pete's statement was half a challenge, half a question. "But José Montoya never backed down from a fight and he's had plenty." Pete was interested. He determined to visit Montoya's camp that evening. He said nothing to Roth, as he intended to return.
Like all good Americans he "turned a keen, untroubled face home to the instant need of things," and after visiting Roth at the store, and though sorely tempted to loiter and inspect saddlery, he set out to hunt up a boy for Montoya. None of the Mexican boys he approached cared to leave home. Things looked pretty blue for Pete. The finding of the right boy meant his own freedom.
I reckon they's mighty few of 'em want to stack up against you." Montoya frowned. "I don' talk like that," he said, shrugging his shoulders. Pete felt that he was getting in deep but he had a happy inspiration. "You don't have to talk. Your ole forty-four does the talking I reckon." "You come and cook?" queried Montoya, coming straight to the point. "I dunno, amigo. I'll think about it." "Bueno.
"With the sheep it is quiet, so!" and Montoya gestured to the band that grazed near by. "Where you will go there will be the hard riding and the fighting, perhaps. It is not good to kill a man. But it is not good to be killed. The hot word the quarrel and some day a man will try to kill you. See! I have left the holster open at the end.
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