missed each time.
This time he made a wider loop.

"What I'm gittin' at is, Roth over to Concho said last night if I was
to go over to Bailey--he's the fo'man of the Concho outfit--and ask him
for a job, I could mebby land one. Roth, he said he'd outfit me and
leave me to pay for it from my wages. Andy White, he's pluggin' for me
over to the ranch. I ain't said nothin' to you, for I wa'n't sure--but
Roth he says mebby I could git a job. I reckon I'm gettin' kind of
_old_ to herd sheep."

Montoya smiled. "Si; I am sixty years old."

"I know--but--doggone it! I want to ride a hoss and go somewhere!"

"I will pay you three dollars a week," said Montoya, and his eyes
twinkled. He was enjoying Pete's embarrassment.

"It ain't the money. You sure been square. It ain't that. I reckon I
jest got to go."

"Then it is that you go. I will find another to help. You have been a
good boy. You do not like the sheep--but the horses. I know that you
have been saving the money. You have not bought cartridges. I would
give you--"

"Hold on--you give me my money day before yesterday."

"Then you have a little till you get your wages from the Concho. It is
good."

"Oh, I'm broke all right," said Pete. "But that don't bother me none.
I paid Roth for that gun I swiped--"

"You steal the gun?"

"Well, it wa'n't jest _stealin'_ it. Roth he never paid me no wages,
so when I lit out I took her along and writ him it was for wages."

"Then why did you pay him?"

Pete frowned. "I dunno."

Montoya nodded. He stooped and fumbled in a pack. Pete wondered what
the old man was hunting for.

Presently, Montoya drew out the hand-carved belt and holster, held it
up, and inspected it critically. He felt of it with his calloused
hands, and finally gestured to Pete. "It is for you, muchacho. I made
it. Stand so. There, it should hang this way." Montoya buckled the
belt around Pete and stepped back. "A little to the front. Bueno!
Tie the thong round your leg--so. That is well! It is the present
from Jose 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! I--"

Montoya patted Pete's shoulder. "With the sheep it is quiet, so!"--and
Montoya gestured to the band that graz