week, Annersley had established a precedent which involved Young Pete's
pride as a wage-earner. In making Pete feel that he was really worth
more than his board and lodging, Annersley had helped the boy to a
certain self-respect which Pete subconsciously felt that he had lost
when Roth, the storekeeper, gave him a home and work but no pay. Young
Pete did not dislike Roth, but the contrast of Roth's close methods
with the large, free-handed dealings of Annersley was ever before him.
Pete was strong for utility. He had no boyish sense of the dramatic,
consciously. He had never had time to play. Everything he did, he did
seriously. So when he left Concho at dusk one summer evening, he did
not "run away" in any sense. He simply decided that it was time to go
elsewhere--and he went.

The old Mexican, Montoya, had a band of sheep in the high country.
Recently the sheep had drifted past Concho, and Pete, alive to anything
and everything that was going somewhere, had waited on the Mexican at
the store. Sugar, coffee, flour, and beans were packed on the shaggy
burros. Pete helped carry the supplies to the doorway and watched him
pack. The two sharp-nosed sheep-dogs interested Pete. They seemed so
alert, and yet so quietly satisfied with their lot. The last thing the
old Mexican did was to ask for a few cartridges. Pete did not
understand just what kind he wanted. With a secretiveness which
thrilled Pete clear to the toes, the old herder, in the shadowy rear of
the store, drew a heavy six-shooter from under his arm and passed it
stealthily to Pete, who recognized the caliber and found cartridges for
it. Pete's manner was equally stealthy. This smacked of adventure!
Cattlemen and sheepmen were not friendly, as Pete knew. Pete had no
love for the "woolies," yet he hated cattlemen. The old Mexican
thanked him and invited him to visit his camp below Concho. Possibly
Pete never would have left the storekeeper--or at least not