"Pete Annersley," he replied proudly.

They sat outside the store and drank bottled pop and swapped youthful
yarns of the range and camp until Pete decided that he had better go.
But his heart was no longer with the sheep.

He rose and shook hands with Andy. "If you git a chanct, ride over to
our camp sometime. I'm goin' up the Largo. You can find us.
Mebby"--and he hesitated, eying the pony--"mebby I might git a chanct
to tie up to your outfit. I'm sick of the woolies."

"Don't blame you, amigo. If I hear of anything I'll come a-fannin' and
tell you. So-long. She's one lovely mornin'."

Pete turned and plodded down the dusty road. Far ahead the sheep
shuffled along, the dogs on either side of the band and old Montoya
trudging behind and driving the burros. Pete said nothing as he caught
up with Montoya, merely taking his place and hazing the burros toward
their first camp in the canon.

It was an aimless life, with little chance of excitement; but riding
range--that was worth while! Already Pete had outgrown any sense of
dependency on the old Mexican. He felt that he was his own man. He
had been literally raised with the horses and until this morning he had
not missed them so much. 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. 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. Perhaps they could arrange to ride together if he (Pete)
could get work with the Concho outfit. 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. Pete,
in his way, had aspirations--vague as yet, but slowly shaping toward a
higher plane than the herding of sheep. He had had experiences enough
for a man twice his age, and he knew that he had ability. As Andy
White had said, it was wasting good time, this sheep-herding. Well,
perhaps something would turn up. In the meantime there was camp to
make, water to