"No, but the doggone town did! I reckon when José Montoya comes in and
wants his grub, you'll settle all right. And he's comin'!"

"Then you will go and not shoot any one?"

"When I git ready. But you kin tell your outfit that the first Chola
that follows me is goin' to run up ag'inst a slug that'll bust him wide
open. I'm goin'--but I'm comin' back."

Pete, satisfied that he had conducted himself in a manner befitting the
occasion, backed away a few steps and finally turned and marched across
the mesa. They had wrecked his outfit. He'd show 'em! Old Montoya
knew that something was wrong when the burros drifted in with their
pack-saddles askew. He thought that possibly some coyote had stampeded
them. He righted the pack-saddles and drove the burros back toward
Laguna. Halfway across the mesa he met Pete, who told him what had
happened. Montoya said nothing. Pete had hoped that his master would
rave and threaten all sorts of vengeance. But the old man simply
nodded, and plodding along back of the burros, finally entered Laguna
and strode up to the store. All sorts of stories were afloat, stories
which Montoya discounted liberally, because he knew Pete. The owner of
the dog claimed damages. Montoya, smiling inwardly, referred that
gentleman to Pete, who stood close to his employer, hoping that he
would start a real row, but pretty certain that he would not. That was
Montoya's way. The scattered provisions as far as possible were
salvaged and fresh supplies loaded on the burros. When Montoya was
ready to leave he turned to the few Mexicans in front of the store:
"When I send my boy in here for flour and the beans and the sugar, it
will be well to keep the dogs away--and to remember that it is Jose de