The Ridin Kid from Powder River | Page 6

cabin.
Young Pete cooled down to a realization that his new pop was not
altogether pleased. He followed Annersley, who told him to put the gun
back in the corner.
"Got to clean her first," asserted Young Pete.

"You look out you don't shoot yourself," said Annersley from the
kitchen.
"Huh," came from the ambitious, young hunter of feathered game, "I
know all about guns--and this here ole musket sure needs cleanin' bad.
She liked to kicked my doggone head off."
They ate what was left of the hen, and a portion of the rooster. After
supper Annersley sat outside with the boy and talked to him kindly.
Slowly it dawned upon Young Pete that it was not considered good
form in the best families of Arizona to slay law-abiding roosters
without explicit directions and permission from their owners. The old
man concluded with a promise that if Young Pete liked to shoot, he
should some day have a gun of his own if he, in turn, would agree to do
no shooting without permission. The promise of a real gun of his own
touched Young Pete's tough little heart. He stuck out his hand. The
compact was sealed.
"Git a thirty-thirty," he suggested.
"What do you know about thirty-thirties?"
"Huh, I know lots. My other pop was tellin' me you could git a man
with a thirty a whole heap farther than you could with any ole
forty-four or them guns. I shot heaps of rabbits with his."
"Well, we'll see. But you want to git over the idee of gettin' a man with
any gun. That goes with horse-tradin' and liquor and such. But we sure
aim to live peaceful, up here."
Meanwhile, Young Pete, squatting beside Annersley, amused himself
by spitting tobacco juice at a procession of red ants that trailed from
nowhere in particular toward the doorstep.
"Makes 'em sick," he chuckled as a lucky shot dissipated the
procession.
"It's sure wastin' cartridges on mighty small game," remarked

Annersley.
"Don't cost nothin' to spit on 'em," said Young Pete.
"Not now. But when you git out of chewin'-tobacco, then where you
goin' to git some more?"
"To the store, I reckon."
"Uh-huh. But where you goin' to git the money?"
"He was givin' me all the chewin' I wanted," said Pete.
"Uh-huh. Well, I ain't got no money for chewin'-tobacco. But I tell you
what, Pete. Now, say I was to give you a dollar a week for--for your
wages. And say I was to git you one of them guns like you said; you
couldn't shoot chewin'-tobacco in that gun, could you?"
"Most anybody knows that!" laughed Pete.
"But you could buy cartridges with that dollar--an' shoot lots."
"Would you lick me if I bought chewin'?"
"Shucks, no! I was jest leavin' it to you."
"When do I git that dollar--the first one?"
Annersley smiled to himself. Pete was shrewd and in no way inclined
to commit himself carelessly. Horse-trading had sharpened his wits to a
razor-edge and dire necessity and hunger had kept those wits keen.
Annersley was amused and at the same time wise enough in his patient,
slow way to hide his amusement and talk with Pete as man to man.
"Why, you ain't been workin' for me a week yet! And come to
think--that rooster was worth five dollars--every cent! What you say if I
was to charge that rooster up to you? Then after five weeks you was to
git a dollar, eh?"
Pete pondered this problem. "Huh!" he exclaimed suddenly. "You et

more 'n half that rooster--and some of the hen."
"All right, son. Then say I was to charge you two dollars for what you
et?"
"Then, I guess beans is good enough for me. Anyhow, I never stole
your rooster. I jest shot him."
"Which is correct. Beckon we'll forgit about that rooster and start
fresh." The old man fumbled in his pocket and brought up a silver
dollar. "Here's your first week's wages, son. What you aim to do with
it?"
"Buy cartridges!" exclaimed Pete. "But I ain't got no gun."
"Well, we'll be goin' to town right soon. I'll git you a gun, and mebby a
scabbard so you can carry it on the saddle."
"Kin I ride that hoss I seen out there?" queried Pete.
"What about ridin' the hoss you sold me? From what you said, I reckon
they ain't no hoss can touch him, in this country."
Pete hesitated on the thin edge of committing himself, tottered and
almost fell, but managed to retain his balance. "Sure, he's a good hoss!
Got a little age on him, but that don't hurt none. I was thinkin' mebby
you'd like that other cayuse of yours broke right. Looks to me like he
needs some handlin' to make