The Ridin Kid from Powder River | Page 3

I want him. What you say he was worth?"
"He's worth a hundred, to any man. But we're sellin' him cheap, for
cash--forty dollars."
"Fifty," said the trader, "and if he ain't worth fifty, he ain't worth puttin'
a halter on. Fifty is givin' him to you."
"So? Then I reckon I don't want him. I wa'n't lookin' for a present. I
was lookin' to buy a hoss."
The trader saw a real customer slipping through his fingers. "Yon can
put a halter on him for forty--cash."
"Nope. Your pardner here said forty,"--and Annersley smiled at Young
Pete. "I'll look him over ag'in for thirty."
Young Pete knew that they needed money badly, a fact that the trader
was apt to ignore when he was drinking. "You said I could sell him for
forty, or mebby less, for cash," complained Young Pete, slipping from
the pony and tying him to the wagon-wheel.
"You go lay down!" growled the trader, and he launched a kick that

jolted Pete into the smouldering camp-fire. Pete was used to being
kicked, but not before an audience. Moreover, the hot ashes had burned
his hands. Pete's dog, hitherto asleep beneath the wagon, rose bristling,
anxious to defend his young master, but afraid of the trader. The
cowering dog and the cringing boy told Annersley much.
Young Pete, brushing the ashes from his over-alls, rose and shaking
with rage, pointed a trembling finger at the trader. "You're a doggone
liar! You're a doggone coward! You're a doggone thief!"
"Just a minute, friend," said Annersley as the trader started toward the
boy. "I reckon the boy is right--but we was talkin' hosses. I'll give you
just forty dollars for the hoss--and the boy."
"Make it fifty and you can take 'em. The kid is no good, anyhow."
This was too much for Young Pete. He could stand abuse and scant
rations, but to be classed as "no good," when he had worked so hard
and lied so eloquently, hurt more than mere kick or blow. His face
quivered and he bit his lip. Old man Annersley slowly drew a wallet
from his overalls and counted out forty dollars. "That hoss ain't sound,"
he remarked and he recounted the money. He's got a couple of
wind-puffs, and he's old. He needs feedin' and restin' up. That boy your
boy?"
"That kid! Huh! I picked him up when he was starvin' to death over to
Enright. I been feedin' him and his no-account dog for a year, and
neither of 'em is worth what he eats."
"So? Then I reckon you won't be missin' him none if I take him along
up to my place."
The horse-trader did not want to lose Young Pete, but he did want
Annersley's money. "I'll leave it to him," he said, flattering himself that
Pete dare not leave him.
"What do you say, son?"--and old man Annersley turned to Pete.
"Would you like to go along up with me and help me to run my place?

I'm kind o' lonesome up there, and I was thinkin' o' gettin' a pardner."
"Where do you live?" queried Pete, quickly drying his eyes.
"Why, up in those hills, which don't no way smell of liquor and are
tellin' the truth from sunup to sunup. Like to come along and give me a
hand with my stock?"
"You bet I would!"
"Here's your money," said Annersley, and he gave the trader forty
dollars. "Git right in that buckboard, son."
"Hold on!" exclaimed the trader. "The kid stays here. I said fifty for the
outfit."
"I'm goin'," asserted Young Pete. "I'm sick o' gettin' kicked and cussed
every time I come near him. He licked me with a rawhide last week."
"He did, eh? For why?"
"'Cause he was drunk--that's why!"
"Then I reckon you come with me. Such as him ain't fit to raise young
'uns."
Young Pete was enjoying himself. This was indeed revenge--to hear
some one tell the trader what he was, and without the fear of a beating.
"I'll go with you," said Pete. "Wait till I git my blanket."
"Don't you touch nothin' in that wagon!" stormed the trader.
"Git your blanket, son," said Annersley.
The horse-trader was deceived by Annersley's mild manner. As Young
Pete started toward the wagon, the trader jumped and grabbed him. The
boy flung up his arms to protect his face. Old man Annersley said
nothing, but with ponderous ease he strode forward, seized the trader
from behind, and shook that loose-mouthed individual till his teeth

rattled and the horizon line grew dim.
"Git your blanket, son," said Annersley, as he swung the trader round,
deposited him face down in the sand, and sat on him. "I'm waitin'."
"Goin' to kill him?" queried Young Pete, his black eyes snapping.
"Shucks, no!"