The Ridin Kid from Powder River | Page 5

that would vanish, leaving him
shivering in his tattered blanket, and the horse-trader telling him to get
up and rustle wood for the morning fire.
The buckboard topped the rise and leveled to the tree-girdled mesa.
Young Pete stared. This was the most beautiful spot he had ever seen.
Ringed round by a great forest of spruce, the Blue Mesa lay
shimmering in the sunset like an emerald lake, beneath a cloudless sky
tinged with crimson, gold, and amethyst. Across the mesa stood a cabin,
the only dwelling in that silent expanse. And this was to be his home,
and the big man beside him, gently urging the horse, was his partner.
He had said so. Surely the great adventure had begun.
Annersley glanced down. Young Pete's hand was clutched in the old
man's coat-sleeve, but the boy was gazing ahead, his bright black eyes
filled with the wonder of new fortunes and a real home. Annersley
blinked and spoke sharply to the horse, although that good animal
needed no urging as he plodded sturdily toward the cabin.

CHAPTER II
FIREARMS AND NEW FORTUNES
For a few days the old man had his hands full. Young Pete, used to
thinking and acting for himself, possessed that most valuable but often
dangerous asset, initiative. The very evening that he arrived at the
homestead, while Annersley was milking the one tame cow out in the
corral, Young Pete decided that he would help matters along by
catching the hen which Annersley had pointed out to him when he
drove into the yard. Milking did not interest Young Pete; but chasing
chickens did.
The hen, a slate-colored and maternal-appearing biddy, seemed to
realize that something unusual was afoot. She refused to be driven into
the coop, perversely diving about the yard and circling the
out-buildings until even Young Pete's ambition flagged. Out of breath
he marched to the house. Annersley's rifle stood in the corner. Young
Pete eyed it longingly, finally picked it up and stole gingerly to the
doorway. The slate-colored hen had cooled down and was at the
moment contemplating the cabin with head sideways, exceedingly
suspicious and ruffled, but standing still. Just as Young Pete drew a
bead on her, the big red rooster came running to assure her that all was
well--that he would protect her; that her trepidation was unfounded. He
blustered and strutted, declaring himself Lord High Protector of the
hen-yard and just about the handsomest thing in feathers--Bloom!
Young Pete blinked, and rubbed his shoulder. The slate-colored hen
sprinted for parts unknown. The big red rooster flopped once or twice
and then gave up the ghost. He had strutted across the firing line just as
Young Pete pulled the trigger. The cow jumped and kicked over the
milk-pail. Old Annersley came running. But Young Pete, the lust of the
chase spurring him on, had disappeared around the corner of the cabin
after the hen. He routed her out from behind the haystack, herded her
swiftly across the clearing to the lean-to stable, and corralled her, so to
speak, in a manger. Just as Annersley caught up with him, Pete leveled
and fired--at close range. What was left of the hen--which was chiefly
feathers, he gathered up and held by the remaining leg. "I got her!" he

panted.
Annersley paused to catch his breath. "Yes--you got her.
Gosh-A'mighty, son--I thought you had started in to clean out the ranch!
You downed my rooster and you like to plugged me an' that heifer
there. The bullit come singin' along and plunked into the rain-bar'l and
most scared me to death. What in the ole scratch started you on the
war-path, anyhow?"
Pete realized that he had overdone the matter slightly. "Why,
nothin'--only you said we was to eat that hen for supper, an' I couldn't
catch the dog-gone ole squawker, so I jest set to and plugged her. This
here gun of yourn kicks somethin' fierce!"
"Well, I reckon you was meanin' all right. But Gosh-A'mighty! You
might 'a' killed the cow or me or somethin'!"
"Well, I got her, anyhow. I got her plumb center."
"Yes--you sure did." And the old man took the remains of the hen from
Pete and "hefted" those remains with a critical finger and thumb. "One
laig left, and a piece of the breast." He sighed heavily. Young Pete
stared up at him, expecting praise for his marksmanship and energy.
The old man put his hand on Pete's shoulder. "It's all right this time, son.
I reckon you wasn't meanin' to murder that rooster. I only got one,
and--"
"He jest run right in front of the hen when I cut loose. He might 'a'
knowed better."
"We'll go see." And Annersley plodded to the yard, picked up the
defunct rooster and entered the