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Pete knew this only too well. He suggested the idea to Andy, who concurred with enthusiasm. "Cholas is no good anyhow," blurted Andy. "You ain't robbin' nobody when you buy a Chola outfit. Let's go!" Montoya, who sat by the fire, coughed. "'Course, I was meanin' some Cholas," said Andy. The old herder smiled to himself. The boys amused him. He had been young once and very poor.
It is the present from José Montoya. Sometimes you will remember " Montoya glanced at Pete's face. Pete was frowning prodigiously. "Hah!" laughed Montoya. "You do not like it, eh?" Pete scowled and blinked. "It's the best doggone holster in the world! I I'm goin' to keep that there holster as long as I live! Montoya patted Pete's shoulder.
But the pony and the sprightly young cowboy, with his keen, smiling face and swinging chaps, had stirred longings in Young Pete's heart that no amount of ease or outdoor freedom with the sheep could satisfy. He wanted action. His life with Montoya had made him careless but not indolent. He felt a touch of shame, realizing that such a thought was disloyal to Montoya, who had done so much for him.
He "threw down" on moving sheep, the dogs, an occasional distant horseman, and even on Montoya himself, but never until the old herder had examined the weapon and assured himself that he would not be suddenly bumped off into glory by his ambitious assistant.
"Thought you was goin' over to see Montoya!" he challenged as he saw the Mexican youth, whom he had tentatively hired, sitting placidly on the store veranda, employed solely in gazing at the road as though it were a most interesting spectacle. "Oh, mañana," drawled the Mexican. "Mañana, nothin'!" volleyed Pete. "You're goin' now!
"I'll come over and have a talk anyway," said Pete, still unwilling to let Montoya think him anxious. "Buenos noches!" Montoya nodded. "He will come," he said to his nephew. "Then it is that you may go to the home. He is small but of the very great courage." The following evening Pete appeared at the herder's camp. The dogs ran out, sniffed at him, and returned to the fire.
Long before Pete arrived at the camp he saw the tiny fire a dot of red against the dark and he heard the muffled trampling of the sheep as they bedded down for the night. Within a few yards of the camp the dogs challenged him, charging down the gentle slope to where he stood. Pete paid no attention to them, but marched up to the fire. Old Montoya rose and greeted him pleasantly.
"On the 6th, the troops were again embarked to pursue the flying garrison up the river, when we received a flag of truce, informing us that the enemy had abandoned the town, after plundering the private houses and magazines, and with the governor, Colonel Montoya, had fled in the direction of Chiloe.
"I would not like to have you go," said Montoya. "You are a good boy." Pete had nothing to say. He wished Montoya had not called him "a good boy." That hurt. If Montoya had only scolded him for stampeding the sheep. . . . But Montoya had spoken in a kindly way. Several nights later a horseman rode into Montoya's camp.
After breakfast Pete made a diagonal approach to the subject of leaving. Could he go to Concho? Montoya nodded. Would it be all right if he made a visit to the Concho outfit over on the mesa? It would be all right. This was too easy. Pete squirmed internally. If Montoya would only ask why he wanted to go. Did Montoya think he could get another boy to help with the sheep?
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