damages. Montoya, smiling inwardly, referred that
gentleman to Pete, who stood close to his employer, hoping that he
would start a real row, but pretty certain that he would not. That was
Montoya's way. The scattered provisions as far as possible were
salvaged and fresh supplies loaded on the burros. When Montoya was
ready to leave he turned to the few Mexicans in front of the store:
"When I send my boy in here for flour and the beans and the sugar, it
will be well to keep the dogs away--and to remember that it is Jose de
la Crux that has sent him. For the new provisions I do not pay.
Adios, senors."

Pete thought that this was rather tame--but still Montoya's manner was
decidedly business-like. No one controverted him--not even the
storekeeper, who was the loser.

A small crowd had assembled. Excitement such as this was rare in
Laguna. While still in plain sight of the group about the store, and
as Montoya plodded slowly along behind the burros, Pete turned and
launched his parthian shot--that eloquently expressive gesture of
contempt and scorn wherein is employed the thumb, the nose, and the
outspread fingers of one hand. He was still very much a boy.

About a year later--after drifting across a big territory of grazing
land, winter-feeding the sheep near Largo, and while preparing to drive
south again and into the high country--Pete met young Andy White, a
clean-cut, sprightly cowboy riding for the Concho outfit. Andy had
ridden down to Largo on some errand or other and had tied his pony in
front of the store when Montoya's sheep billowed down the street and
frightened the pony. Young Pete, hazing the burros, saw the pony pull
back and break the reins, whirl and dash out into the open and circle
the mesa with head and tail up. It was a young horse, not actually
wild, but decidedly frisky. Pete had not been on a horse for many
months. The beautiful pony, stamping and snorting in the morning sun,
thrilled Pete clear to his toes. To ride--anywhere--what a contrast to
plodding along with the burros! To feel a horse between his knees
again! To swing up and ride--ride across the mesa to that dim line of
hills where the sun touched the blue of the timber and the gold of the
quaking-asp and burned softly on the far woodland trail that led south
and south across the silent ranges! Pete snatched a rope from the pack
and walked out toward the pony. That good animal, a bit afraid of the
queer figure in the