The Ridin Kid from Powder River | Page 9

no ground
for argument. Annersley was a trifle surprised that the boy consented to
stay without demur. Annersley might have known that Young Pete's
very silence was significant; but the old man was troubled and only too

glad to find his young partner so amenable to his suggestion. When
Annersley left the store Young Pete's "So-long, pop," was as casual as
sunshine, but his tough little heart was thumping with restrained
excitement. He knew that his pop feared trouble and wished to face it
alone.
Pete allowed a reasonable length of time to elapse and then approached
the storekeeper. "Gimme a box of thirty-thirties," he said, fishing up
some silver from his overall pocket.
"Where'd you get all that money, Pete?"
"Why, I done stuck up the fo'man of the T-Bar-T on pay-day and made
him shell out," said Pete.
The storekeeper grinned. "Here you be. Goin' huntin'?"
"Uh-huh. Huntin' snakes."
"Honest, now! Where'd you git the change?"
"My wages!" said Young Pete proudly. "Pop is givin' me a dollar a
week for helpin' him. We're pardners."
"Your pop is right good to you, ain't he?"
"You bet! And he can lick any ole bunch of cow-chasers in this country.
Somebody's goin' to git hurt if they monkey with him!"
"Where 'd you get the idea anybody was going to monkey with your
dad?"
Young Pete felt that he had been incautious. He refused to talk further,
despite the storekeeper's friendly questioning. Instead, the boy roamed
about the store, inspecting and commenting upon saddlery, guns,
canned goods, ready-made clothing, and showcase trinkets, his ears
alert for every word exchanged by the storekeeper and a chance
customer. Presently two cowboys clumped in, joshed with the
store-keeper, bought tobacco and ammunition--a most usual procedure,

and clumped out again. Young Pete strolled to the door and watched
them enter the adobe saloon across the way--Tony's Place--the
rendezvous of the riders of the high mesas. Again a group of cowboys
arrived, jesting and roughing their mounts. They entered the store,
bought ammunition, and drifted to the saloon. It was far from pay-day,
as Pete knew. It was also the busy season. There was some ulterior
reason for so many riders assembling in town. Pete decided to find out
just what they were up to.
After supper he meandered across to the saloon, passed around it, and
hid in an empty barrel near the rear door. He was uncomfortable, but
not unhappy. He listened for a chance word that might explain the
presence of so many cowboys in town that day. Frequently he heard
Gary's name mentioned. He had not seen Gary with the others. But the
talk was casual, and he learned nothing until some one remarked that it
was about time to drift along. They left in a body, taking the mesa trail
that led to the Blue. This was significant. They usually left in groups of
two or three, as their individual pleasure dictated. And there was a
business-like alertness about their movements that did not escape
Young Pete.
The Arizona stars were clear and keen when he crept round to the front
of the saloon and pattered across the road to the store. The storekeeper
was closing for the night. Young Pete, restlessly anxious to follow the
T-Bar-T men, invented an excuse to leave the storekeeper, who
suggested that they go to bed.
"Got to see if my hoss is all right," said Pete. "The ole fool's like to git
tangled up in that there drag-rope I done left on him. Beckon I'll take it
off."
"Why, your dad was tellin' me you was a reg'lar buckaroo. Thought you
knew better than to leave a rope on a hoss when he's in a corral."
"I forgot," invented Pete. "Won't take a minute."
"Then I'll wait for you. Run along while I get my lantern."

The storekeeper's house was but a few doors down the street, which,
however, meant quite a distance, as Concho straggled over considerable
territory. He lighted the lantern and sat down on the steps waiting for
the boy. From the corral back of the store came the sound of trampling
hoofs and an occasional word from Young Pete, who seemed to be a
long time at the simple task of untying a drag-rope. The store-keeper
grew suspicious and finally strode back to the corral. His first
intimation of Pete's real intent was a glimpse of the boy astride the big
bay and blinking in the rays of the lantern.
"What you up to?" queried the storekeeper.
Young Pete's reply was to dig his heels into the horse's ribs. The
storekeeper caught hold of the bridle. "You git down and come home
with me. Where you goin' anyhow?"
"Take your hand off that bridle," blustered Young Pete.
The trader had to laugh.