Pete pondered this problem. "Huh!" he exclaimed suddenly. "You et
more 'n half that rooster--and some of the hen."

"All right, son. Then say I was to charge you two dollars for what you
et?"

"Then, I guess beans is good enough for me. Anyhow, I never stole your
rooster. I jest shot him."

"Which is correct. Beckon we'll forgit about that rooster and start
fresh." The old man fumbled in his pocket and brought up a silver
dollar. "Here's your first week's wages, son. What you aim to do with
it?"

"Buy cartridges!" exclaimed Pete. "But I ain't got no gun."

"Well, we'll be goin' to town right soon. I'll git you a gun, and
mebby a scabbard so you can carry it on the saddle."

"Kin I ride that hoss I seen out there?" queried Pete.

"What about ridin' the hoss you sold me? From what you said, I reckon
they ain't no hoss can touch him, in this country."

Pete hesitated on the thin edge of committing himself, tottered and
almost fell, but managed to retain his balance. "Sure, he's a good
hoss! Got a little age on him, but that don't hurt none. I was
thinkin' mebby you'd like that other cayuse of yours broke right.
Looks to me like he needs some handlin' to make a first-class
saddle-hoss."