Vietnam or Thailand ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
Updated: June 27, 2025
As it was, Young Pete was crafty. Already he distrusted the sheriff's sincerity. Then, the fact that two of the T-Bar-T men had been killed rather quieted the public mind, which expressed itself as pretty well satisfied that old man Annersley's account was squared. He or the boy had "got" two of the enemy. In fact, it was more or less of a joke on the T-Bar-T outfit they should have known better.
"It's me, pop! It's Pete! Lemme in!" Annersley's heart sank. Why had the boy come? How did he know? How had he managed to get away? He flung open the door and dragged Pete in. "What you doin' here?" he challenged. "I done lost my hat," gasped Pete. "I I was lookin' for it." "Your hat? You gone loco? Git in there and lay down!"
Milking did not interest Young Pete; but chasing chickens did. The hen, a slate-colored and maternal-appearing biddy, seemed to realize that something unusual was afoot. She refused to be driven into the coop, perversely diving about the yard and circling the out-buildings until even Young Pete's ambition flagged. Out of breath he marched to the house. Annersley's rifle stood in the corner.
He cut across the mesa to the trail and trudged down toward Concho. His eyes burned and his throat ached. The rifles grew heavy, but he would not leave them. It was significant that Pete thought of taking nothing else from the cabin, neither clothing, food, nor the money that he knew to be in Annersley's wallet in the bedroom. The sun burned down upon his unprotected head, but he did not feel it.
Pete, used to a rough-and-tumble existence, was deeply impressed by the old man's quiet outlook and gentle manner. While not altogether in accord with Annersley's attitude in regard to profanity and chewing tobacco still, Young Pete felt that a man who could down the horse-trader and sit on him and suffer no harm was somehow worth listening to.
Pete was camping within fifty yards of the spot where old Pop Annersley had tried to teach him to read and write it seemed a long time ago, and Annersley himself seemed more vague in Pete's memory, as he tried to recall the kindly features and the slow, deliberate movements of the old man. It irritated Pete that he could not recall old man Annersley's face distinctly.
But two men never forgot him the storekeeper and the sheriff. One of them hoped that the boy might come back some day. He had grown fond of Pete. The other hoped that he would not come back. Meanwhile the T-Bar-T herds grazed over Annersley's homestead.
He knew that if he were caught, he would most probably be hanged or imprisoned for the shooting of Gary if he were not killed in being taken. The T-Bar-T interests ruled the courts. Moreover, his reputation was against him. Ever since the raid on Annersley's place Pete had been pointed out as the "kid who stood off the raiders and got two of them."
"What you say if we kill a chicken for supper and celebrate." "G'wan, you're joshin' me!" "Nope. I like chicken. And I got one that needs killin'; a no-account ole hen what won't set and won't lay." "Then we'll ring her doggone head off, eh?" "Somethin' like that only I ain't jest hatin' that there hen. She ain't no good, that's all." Young Pete pondered, watching Annersley's grave, bearded face.
Before he knew what had happened men were in the cabin. Some one struck a match. Young Pete cowered in a corner, all the fight oozing out of him as the lamp was lighted and he saw several men masked with bandannas. "The old man's done for," said one of them, stooping to look at Annersley. Another picked up the two empty shells from Annersley's rifle. "Where's the kid?" asked another.
Word Of The Day
Others Looking