The Ridin' Kid from Powder River

  CHAPTER VIII

  SOME BOOKKEEPING

  While it is possible to approach the foreman of a cattle outfit on footand apply for work, it is--as a certain Ulysses of the outlands oncesaid--not considered good form in the best families in Arizona. Petewas only too keenly conscious of this. There is a prestige recognizedby both employer and tentative employee in riding in, swinging to theground in that deliberate and easy fashion of the Western rider, andsauntering up as though on a friendly visit wherein the weather andgrazing furnish themes for introduction, discussion, and the eventualwedge that may open up the way to employment. The foreman knows by theway you sit your horse, dismount, and generally handle yourself, justwhere you stand in the scale of ability. He does not need to be told.Nor does he care what you have been. Your saddle-tree is much moresignificant than your family tree. Still, if you have graduated insome Far Eastern riding academy, and are, perchance, ambitious to learnthe gentle art of roping, riding them as they come, and incidentallypreserving your anatomy as an undislocated whole, it is not a bad ideato approach the foreman on foot and clothed in unpretentious garb.For, as this same Ulysses of the outlands said:

  "Rub grease on your chaps and look wise if you will, But the odor of tan-bark will cling round you still."

  This information alone is worth considerably more than twenty cents.

  Young Pete, who had not slept much, arose and prepared breakfast,making the coffee extra strong. Montoya liked strong coffee. Afterbreakfast Pete made a diagonal approach to the subject of leaving.Could he go to Concho? Montoya nodded. Would it be all right if hemade a visit to the Concho outfit over on the mesa? It would be allright. This was too easy. Pete squirmed internally. If Montoya wouldonly ask why he wanted to go. Did Montoya think he could get anotherboy to help with the sheep? The old herder, who had a quiet sense ofhumor, said he didn't need another boy: that Pete did very well. YoungPete felt, as he expressed it to himself, "jest plumb mean."Metaphorically he had thrown his rope three times and missed each time.This time he made a wider loop.

  "What I'm gittin' at is, Roth over to Concho said last night if I wasto go over to Bailey--he's the fo'man of the Concho outfit--and ask himfor a job, I could mebby land one. Roth, he said he'd outfit me andleave me to pay for it from my wages. Andy White, he's pluggin' for meover to the ranch. I ain't said nothin' to you, for I wa'n't sure--butRoth he says mebby I could git a job. I reckon I'm gettin' kind of_old_ to herd sheep."

  Montoya smiled. "Si; I am sixty years old."

  "I know--but--doggone it! I want to ride a hoss and go somewhere!"

  "I will pay you three dollars a week," said Montoya, and his eyestwinkled. He was enjoying Pete's embarrassment.

  "It ain't the money. You sure been square. It ain't that. I reckon Ijest got to go."

  "Then it is that you go. I will find another to help. You have been agood boy. You do not like the sheep--but the horses. I know that youhave been saving the money. You have not bought cartridges. I wouldgive you--"

  "Hold on--you give me my money day before yesterday."

  "Then you have a little till you get your wages from the Concho. It isgood."

  "Oh, I'm broke all right," said Pete. "But that don't bother me none.I paid Roth for that gun I swiped--"

  "You steal the gun?"

  "Well, it wa'n't jest _stealin'_ it. Roth he never paid me no wages,so when I lit out I took her along and writ him it was for wages."

  "Then why did you pay him?"

  Pete frowned. "I dunno."

  Montoya nodded. He stooped and fumbled in a pack. Pete wondered whatthe old man was hunting for.

  Presently, Montoya drew out the hand-carved belt and holster, held itup, and inspected it critically. He felt of it with his callousedhands, and finally gestured to Pete. "It is for you, muchacho. I madeit. Stand so. There, it should hang this way." Montoya buckled thebelt around Pete and stepped back. "A little to the front. Bueno!Tie the thong round your leg--so. That is well! It is the presentfrom Jose Montoya. Sometimes you will remember--"

  Montoya glanced at Pete's face. Pete was frowning prodigiously.

  "Hah!" laughed Montoya. "You do not like it, eh?"

  Pete scowled and blinked. "It's the best doggone holster in the world!I--I'm goin' to keep that there holster as long as I live! I--"

  Montoya patted Pete's shoulder. "With the sheep it is quiet, so!"--andMontoya gestured to the band that grazed near by. "Where you will gothere will be the hard riding and the fighting, perhaps. It is notgood to kill a man. But it is not good to be killed. The hotword--the quarrel--and some day a man will try to kill you. See! Ihave left the holster open at the end. I have taught you thattrick--but do not tie the holster down if you would shoot that way.There is no more to say."

  Pete thought so, so far as he was concerned. He was angry with himselffor having felt emotion and yet happy in that his break with Montoyahad terminated so pleasantly withal. "I'm goin' to town," he said,"and git a boy to come out here. If I can't git a boy, I'll come backand stay till you git one."

  Montoya nodded and strode out to where the sheep had drifted. The dogsjumped up and welcomed him. It was not customary for their master toleave them for so long alone with the flock. Their wagging tails andgeneral attitude expressed relief.

  Pete, topping the rise that hides the town of Concho from the northernvistas, turned and looked back. Far below, on a slightly rounded knollstood the old herder, a solitary figure in the wide expanse of mesa andmorning sunlight. Pete swung his hat. Montoya raised his arm in agesture of good-will and farewell. Pete might have to come back, butMontoya doubted it. He knew Pete. If there was anything that lookedlike a boy available in Concho, Pete would induce that boy to take hisplace with Montoya, if he had to resort to force to do so.

  Youth on the hilltop! Youth pausing to gaze back for a moment on apleasant vista of sunshine and long, lazy days--Pete brushed his armacross his eyes. One of the dogs had left the sheep, and came friskingtoward the hill where Pete stood. Pete had never paid much attentionto the dogs, and was surprised that either of them should note hisgoing, at this time. "Mebby the doggone cuss knows that I'm quittin'for good," he thought. The dog circled Pete and barked ingratiatingly.Pete, touched by unexpected interest, squatted down and called the dogto him. The sharp-muzzled, keen-eyed animal trotted up and nosedPete's hand. "You 're sure wise!" said Pete affectionately. Pete waseven more astonished to realize that it was the dog he had ropedrecently. "Knowed I was only foolin'," said Pete, patting the dog'shead. The sheep-dog gazed up into Pete's face with bright, unblinkingeyes that questioned, "Why was Pete leaving camp early in themorning--and without the burros?"

  "I'm quittin' for good," said Pete.

  The dog's waving tail grew still.

  "That's right--honest!"--and Pete rose.

  The sheep-dog's quivering joy ceased at the word. His alertnessvanished. A veritable statue of dejection he stood as though ponderingthe situation. Then he lifted his head and howled--the long,lugubrious howl of the wolf that hungers.

  "You said it all," muttered Pete, turning swiftly and trudging down theroad. He would have liked to howl himself. Montoya's kindliness atparting--and his gift--had touched Pete deeply, but he had fought hisemotion then, too proud to show it. Now he felt a hot somethingspatter on his hand. His mouth quivered. "Doggone the dog!" heexclaimed. "Doggone the whole doggone outfit!" And to cheat hisemotion he began to sing, in a ludicrous, choked way, that sprightlyand inimitable range ballad;

  "'Way high up in the Mokiones, among the mountain-tops, A lion cleaned a yearlin's bones and licked his thankful chops, When who upon the scene should ride, a-trippin' down the slope,"

  "Doggone the slope!" blurted Pete as he stubbed his toe on a rock.

  But when he reached Concho his eyes had cleared. Like all goodAmericans he "turned a keen, untroubled face home to the instant needof things," and after visiting Roth at the store, a
nd though sorelytempted to loiter and inspect saddlery, he set out to hunt up aboy--for Montoya.

  None of the Mexican boys he approached cared to leave home. Thingslooked pretty blue for Pete. The finding of the right boy meant hisown freedom. His contempt for the youth of Concho grew apace. TheMexicans were a lazy lot, who either did not want to work or were loathto leave home and follow the sheep. "Jest kids!" he remarkedcontemptuously as his fifth attempt failed. "I could lick the wholebunch!"

  Finally he located a half-grown youth who said he was willing to go.Pete told him where to find Montoya and exacted a promise from theyouth to go at once and apply for the place. Pete hastened to thestore and immediately forgot time, place, and even the fact that he hadyet to get a job riding for the Concho outfit, in the eager joy ofchoosing a saddle, bridle, blanket, spurs, boots and chaps, to saynothing of a new Stetson and rope. The sum total of these unpaid-forpurchases rather staggered him. His eighteen-odd dollars was as afly-speck on the credit side of the ledger. He had chosen the best ofeverything that Roth had in stock. A little figuring convinced himthat he would have to work several months before his outfit was paidfor. "If I git a job I'll give you an order for my wages," he toldRoth.

  "That's all right, Pete; I ain't worryin'."

  "Well--I be, some," said Pete. "Lemme see--fifty for the saddle, sevenfor the bridle---and she's some bridle!--and eighteen for thechaps--fifteen for the boots--that's ninety dollars. Gee whizz! Thenthere's four for that blanket and ten for them spurs. That's a hundredand four. 'Course I _could_ git along without a new lid. Rope isthree-fifty, and lid is ten. One hundred and seventeen dollars forfour bits. Guess I'll make it a hundred and twenty. No use botherin'about small change. Gimme that pair of gloves."

  Roth had no hesitation in outfitting Pete. The Concho cattlemen tradedat his store. He had extended credit to many a rider whom he trustedless than he did Pete. Moreover, he was fond of the boy and wanted tosee him placed where he could better himself. "I've got you on thebooks for a hundred and twenty," he told Pete, and Pete felt very proudand important. "Now, if I could borrow a hoss for a spell, I'd jestfork him and ride over to see Bailey," he asserted. "I sure can't packthis outfit over there."

  Roth grinned. "Well, we might as well let the tail go with the hide.There's old Rowdy. He ain't much of a horse, but he's got three goodlegs yet. He starched a little forward, but he'll make the trip overand back. You can take him."

  "Honest?"

  "Go ahead."

  Pete tingled with joyful anticipation as he strode from the store, hisnew rope in his hand. He would rope that cayuse and just about burnthe ground for the Concho! Maybe he wouldn't make young Andy White situp! The Ridin' Kid from Powder River was walking on air when--

  "Thought you was goin' over to see Montoya!" he challenged as he sawthe Mexican youth, whom he had tentatively hired, sitting placidly onthe store veranda, employed solely in gazing at the road as though itwere a most interesting spectacle. "Oh, manana," drawled the Mexican.

  "Manana, nothin'!" volleyed Pete. "You're goin' now! Git a-movin'--ifyou have to take your hands and lift your doggone feet off the ground.Git a-goin'!"

  "Oh, maybe I go manana."

  "You're dreamin', hombre." Pete was desperate. Again he saw hischance of an immediate job go glimmering down the vague vistas of manyto-morrows.

  "See here! What kind of a guy are you, anyhow? I come in hereyesterday and offered you a job and you promised you'd git to workright away. You--"

  "It was _to-day_ you speak of Montoya," corrected the Mexican.

  "You're dreamin'," reiterated Pete. "It was _yesterday_ you said youwould go manana. Well, it's to-morrow, ain't it? You been asleep an'don't know it."

  An expression of childish wonder crossed the Mexican youth's stolidface. Of a certainty it was but this very morning that Montoya's boyhad spoken to him! Or was it yesterday morning? Montoya's boy hadsaid it was yesterday morning. It must be so. The youth rose andgazed about him. Pete stood aggressively potent, frowning down on theother's hesitation.

  "I go," said the Mexican.

  Pete heaved a sigh of relief. "A fella's got to know how to handle'em," he told the immediate vicinity. And because Pete knew somethingabout "handlin' 'em," he did not at once go for the horse, but stoodstaring after the Mexican, who had paused to glance back. Pete wavedhis hand in a gesture which meant, "Keep goin'." The Mexican youthkept going.

  "I ain't wishin' old Jose any hard luck," muttered Pete, "but I saidI'd send a boy--and that there walkin' dream _looks_ like one, anyhow.'Oh, manana!'" he snorted. "Mexicans is mostly figurin' out to-daywhat they 're goin' to do to-morrow, and they never git throughfigurin'. I dunno who my father and mother was, but I know onething--they wa'n't Mexicans."