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He wished to become expert, but in becoming expert he forgot for the time being his original intent of eventually becoming the avenger of Annersley. Pride in his ability to draw quick and shoot straight, with an occasional word of praise from old Montoya, pretty well satisfied him. When he was not practicing he was working, and thought only of the task at hand.
If Pete stayed with him, he would have it and if Pete left he should have something by which to remember José de la Crux Montoya something to remember him by, and something useful for even then Montoya realized that if Young Pete survived the present hazards that challenged youth and an adventurous heart, some day, as a man grown, Pete would thoroughly appreciate the gift.
Pete, satisfied that he had conducted himself in a manner befitting the occasion, backed away a few steps and finally turned and marched across the mesa. They had wrecked his outfit. He'd show 'em! Old Montoya knew that something was wrong when the burros drifted in with their pack-saddles askew. He thought that possibly some coyote had stampeded them.
But and his pause was fraught with deep significance it was no less true that Felipe Montoya bore a bad reputation as a driver of horses was known, indeed, to kill horses through overwork and underfeed and that, therefore, to lend him a horse was like kissing the horse good-by and hitching up another to the stone-boat.
"No, but the doggone town did! I reckon when José Montoya comes in and wants his grub, you'll settle all right. And he's comin'!" "Then you will go and not shoot any one?" "When I git ready. But you kin tell your outfit that the first Chola that follows me is goin' to run up ag'inst a slug that'll bust him wide open. I'm goin' but I'm comin' back."
The dog had never been roped. His dignity was assaulted. He yelped and started straightway for Montoya, who stood near the band, gazing, as ever, into space. Just as the rope came taut, Pete's foot slipped and he lost the rope. The dog, frightened out of his wits, charged down on the sheep. The trailing rope startled them. They sagged in, crowding away from the terror-stricken dog.
And Montoya also feared that Pete might get into trouble. Pete was pugnacious, independent, and while always possessing enough humor to hold his own in a wordy argument, he had much pride, considering himself the equal of any man and quite above the run of youths of the towns. And he disliked Mexicans Montoya being the one exception.
The latter, with his numerous slaves, surrounded the church where the father was, guarding it with great vigilance; and, when he returned, took, in his own boat the box of church ornaments and brought them all back in safety. The departure of Father Tomas de Montoya for the doctrina of Alangalang.
I reckon I'm gettin' kind of old to herd sheep." Montoya smiled. "Si; I am sixty years old." "I know but doggone it! I want to ride a hoss and go somewhere!" "I will pay you three dollars a week," said Montoya, and his eyes twinkled. He was enjoying Pete's embarrassment. "It ain't the money. You sure been square. It ain't that. I reckon I jest got to go." "Then it is that you go.
As for Montoya and the sheep they were drifting on in a cloud of dust, the burros following placidly. "You sure caught him slick." Pete nodded to the bright-faced young cowboy who had stepped up to him. Andy White was older than Pete, heavier and taller, with keen blue eyes and an expression as frank and fearless as the morning itself.
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