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!"