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Updated: June 15, 2025


The strident ill-nature of the speaker challenged argument, but the boys were in good-humor. "What you pickin' on Montoya for?" queried a cowboy, laughing. "He ain't here." Pete sat up, naturally interested in the answer. "He's lucky he ain't," retorted the cow-puncher. "You're lucky he ain't," came from Pete's vicinity. "Who says so?" Andy White tugged at Pete's sleeve. "Shut up, Pete!

Pete told him where to find Montoya and exacted a promise from the youth to go at once and apply for the place. Pete hastened to the store and immediately forgot time, place, and even the fact that he had yet to get a job riding for the Concho outfit, in the eager joy of choosing a saddle, bridle, blanket, spurs, boots and chaps, to say nothing of a new Stetson and rope.

Time had dulled the edge of Pete's earlier hatred and experience had taught him to leave well enough alone. But that strident voice, edged with malice, had stirred bitter memories. Pete felt that should he keep silent it would reflect on his loyalty to both Montoya and Annersley. There were men there who knew he had worked for Montoya.

But what sentiment Pete had, ceased immediately, however, when the main chance loomed, and he thought he saw his fortune shaping toward the range and the cow-ponies. He had liked Andy White from the beginning. The gist of it all was that Pete was lonely and did not realize it. Montoya was much older, grave, and often silent for days. He seemed satisfied with the life.

Possibly Pete never would have left the storekeeper or at least not immediately had not that good man, always willing to cater to Pete's curiosity as to guns and gunmen, told him that old Montoya, while a Mexican, was a dangerous man with a six-gun; that he was seldom molested by the cattlemen, who knew him to be absolutely without fear and a dead shot. "Huh! That old herder ain't no gun-fighter!"

The value of this opinion is somewhat diminished by the fact that Montoya had a personal grudge against Luis de Leon who, some four or five years previously, had prevented Montoya's election as Provincial of the Augustinians in Spain.

Doris' gray eyes grew big as Pete spoke rapidly of his early life, of the horse-trader, of Annersley and Bailey and Montoya, and young Andy White characters who passed swiftly before her vision as she followed Pete's fortunes up to the moment when he was brought into the hospital.

It is to be hoped these earthly grandeurs will not turn Judita's thoughts from heaven!" The señora shook her head cheerfully. "My Ana told Judita she ought to be thankful so plain a face as hers should find favor with José Montoya. My Ana is full of loving thoughts! She never lets her friends forget what poor, sinning mortals they are!"

Reckon you don't know some cow-punchers killed my dad. Montoya did not smile. This muchacho evidently had spirit. Pete's invention, made on the spur of the moment, had hit "plumb center," as he told himself. For Montoya immediately became gracious, proffered Pete tobacco and papers, and suggested coffee, which the young Mexican made while Pete and the old man chatted.

In the meantime there was camp to make, water to pack, and plenty of easy detail to take up his immediate time. Perhaps he would talk with Montoya after supper about making a change. Perhaps not. It might be better to wait until he saw Andy White again. In camp that night Montoya asked Pete if he were sick. Pete shook his head; "Jest thinkin'," he replied.

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