g Pete was not always so fortunate. But
he was not altogether unhappy. He had responsibilities, especially
when the trader was drunk and the horses needed attention. Pete
learned much profanity without realizing its significance. He also
learned to chew tobacco and realized its immediate significance. He
mastered the art, however, and became in his own estimation a man
grown--a twelve-year-old man who could swear, chew, and show horses to
advantage when the trader could not, because the horses were not afraid
of Young Pete.

When Pete got kicked or cuffed he cursed the trader heartily. Once,
after a brutal beating, Young Pete backed to the wagon, pulled the
rifle from beneath the seat, and threatened to kill the trader. After
that the rifle was never left loaded. In his tough little heart Pete
hated his master, but he liked the life, which offered much variety and
promised no little romance of a kind.

Pete had barely existed for twelve years. When the trader came along
with his wagon and ponies and cajoled Pete into going with him, Pete
gladly turned his face toward wider horizons and the great adventure.
Yet for him the great adventure was not to end in the trading of horses
and drifting from town to town all his life.

Old man Annersley held down a quarter-section on the Blue Mesa chiefly
because he liked the country. Incidently he gleaned a living by hard
work and thrift. His homestead embraced the only water for miles in
any direction, water that the upland cattlemen had used from time
immemorial. When Annersley fenced this water he did a most natural and
necessary thing. He had gathered together a few head of cattle, some
chickens, two fairly respectable horses, and enough timber to build a
comfortable cabin. He lived alone, a gentle old hermit whose hand was
clean to every man, and whose heart was tender to all living things
despite many hard years in desert and range among men who dispensed
such law as there was with a quick forefinger and an uncompromising
eye. His gray hairs were honorable in that he had known no wastrel
years. Nature had shaped him to a great, rugged being fitted for the
simplicity of mountain life and toil. He had no argument with God and
no petty dispute with man. What he found to do he did heartily. The
horse-trader, camped near Concho, came to realize this.

Old man Annersley was in need of a horse. One of his team had died
that winter. So he unhooked the pole fro