had at first been considered fatal.

Young Pete was not to know of this until long after the knowledge could
have had any value in shaping his career. Bailey, with two of his men,
traced Pete as far as Showdown, where the trail went blind, ending with
The Spider's apparently sincere assertion that he knew nothing whatever
of Peters whereabouts.

Paradoxically, those very qualities which won him friends now kept Pete
from those friends. The last place toward which he would have chosen
to ride would have been the Concho--and the last man he would have
asked for help would have been Jim Bailey. Pete felt that he was doing
pretty well at creating trouble for himself without entangling his best
friends.

"Got to kill to live," he reiterated.

"Como 'sta, senor?" Old Flores had just stepped from behind the
crumbling 'dobe wall of the stable.

"Well, it ain't your fault I ain't a-furnishin' a argument for the
coyotes."

"The senor would insult Boca. He was drunk," said Flores.

"Hold on there! Don't you go cantelopin' off with any little ole idea
like that sewed up in your hat. _Which_ senor was drunk?"

Flores shrugged his shoulders. "Who may say?" he half-whined.

"Well, I can, for one," asserted Pete. "_You_ was drunk and _Malvey_
was drunk, and the two of you dam' near fixed me. But that don't
count--now. Where's my hoss?"

"Quien sabe?"

"You make me sick," said Pete in English. Flores caught the word
"sick" and thought Pete was complaining of his physical condition.

"The senor is welcome to rest and get well. What is done is done, and
cannot be mended. But when the senor would ride, I can find a horse--a
good horse and not a very great price."

"I'm willin' to pay," said Pete, who thought that he had already pretty
well paid for anything he might need.

"And a good saddle," continued Flores.

"I'm usin' my own rig," stated Pete.

"It is the saddle, there, that I would sell to the senor." The old
Mexican gestured toward Pete's own saddle.

Pete was about to retort hastily when he reconsidered. The only way to
meet trickery was with trickery. "All right," he said indifferently.
"You'll sure get all that is comin' to you."

CHAPTER XXII

"A DRESS--OR A RING, PERHAPS"

All that day Pete lay in the shade of the 'dobe feigning indifference
to Boca as she brought him water and food, until even she was deceived
by his listlessness, fearing that he had been seriously injured. No