"Never mind, I know about that. I was meanin' your other name."

"My other name? I ain't got none. I'm Pete."

Annersley shook his head. "Well, pardner, you'll be Pete Annersley
now. Watch out that hoss don't jerk you out o' your jacket. This here
hill is a enterprisin' hill and leads right up to my place. Hang on!
As I was sayin', we're pardners, you and me. We're goin' up to my
place on the Blue and tend to the critters and git washed up and have
supper, and mebby after supper we'll mosey around so you kin git
acquainted with the ranch. Where'd you say your pop come from?"

"I dunno. He ain't my real pop."

Annersley turned and looked down at the lean, bright little face. "Yon
hungry, son?"

"You bet!"

"What you say if we kill a chicken for supper--and celebrate."

"G'wan, you're joshin' me!"

"Nope. I like chicken. And I got one that needs killin'; a no-account
ole hen what won't set and won't lay."

"Then we'll ring her doggone head off, eh?"

"Somethin' like that--only I ain't jest hatin' that there hen. She