The old man put his hand on Pete's shoulder. "It's all right this
time, son. I reckon you wasn't meanin' to murder that rooster. I only
got one, and--"

"He jest run right in front of the hen when I cut loose. He might 'a'
knowed better."

"We'll go see." And Annersley plodded to the yard, picked up the
defunct rooster and entered the 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