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And he had ridden range in his youthful days. A mild fatalist, he knew that Pete would not stay long, and Montoya was big enough not to begrudge the muchacho any happiness. "I'm goin' over to town for a spell," explained Pete. Montoya nodded. "I'm comin' back," Pete added, a bit embarrassed. "Bueno. I shall be here."
I have taught you that trick but do not tie the holster down if you would shoot that way. There is no more to say." Pete thought so, so far as he was concerned. He was angry with himself for having felt emotion and yet happy in that his break with Montoya had terminated so pleasantly withal. "I'm goin' to town," he said, "and git a boy to come out here.
Here, as if in glee over their escape from city confines, they redoubled in fury and tore down to earth and enveloped Felipe Montoya, a young and good-looking Mexican, and his team of scrawny horses plodding in a lumber rigging, all in a stinging swirl. "Haya!" cried Felipe, as the first of the sand-laden winds struck him, "Chivos chivos!"
"I, José de la Crux Montoya, will show you how to work him. It is a big gun for such a chico." "Oh, I reckon I kin hold her down. When do we start the shootin' match?" Montoya smiled. "Mañana, perhaps." "Then that's settled!" Pete heaved a sigh. "But how am I goin' to git them cartridges?" "From the store." "That's all right. But how many do I git for workin' for you?" Montoya laughed outright.
Possibly Pete's assurance, as contrasted with the bashfulness and timidity of the old Mexican's nephew, had something to do with Montoya's immediate friendliness. In any event, the visit ended with an invitation to Pete to become a permanent member of the sheep-camp, Montoya explaining that his nephew wanted to go home; that he did not like the loneliness of a herder's life.
The old fellow acts like he feels he ought to stick along till we're outa here. He's kind of taken a notion to me because I can talk sign, and he seems to want to make sure we don't mix it again with the tribe. Some of them are kinda peeved, all right. You've got no quarrel with this old fellow, have you? He's a big-league medicine man in the tribe, and his Spanish name is Mariano Pablo Montoya.
Presently, Montoya drew out the hand-carved belt and holster, held it up, and inspected it critically. He felt of it with his calloused hands, and finally gestured to Pete. "It is for you, muchacho. I made it. Stand so. There, it should hang this way." Montoya buckled the belt around Pete and stepped back. "A little to the front. Bueno! Tie the thong round your leg so. That is well!
All I know is that when Gary started talkin' about Montoya I commenced to git hot inside. I knowed I was a fool but I jest had to stand up and tell him what he was. It wa'n't me doin' it. It was jest like somethin' big a-pullin' me onto my feet and makin' me talk like I did.
Luis de Leon indulges in no circuitous phrases when he comes to deal with Montoya, whom he describes as an enemy notorious for his untruthfulness.
Once he made Pete put down his gun and take up a handful of stones. "Now shoot," he said. Pete, much chagrined, pelted the stones rapidly at the empty can target. To his surprise he missed it only once. "Now shoot him like that," said Montoya. Pete, chafing because of this "kid stuff," as he called the stone-throwing, picked up his gun and "threw" five shots at the can.
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