anything they or their neighbors possessed, for a consideration. There
were Mexicans who would sell horse, saddle, and bridle for that amount,
especially when thirsty--for seventeen dollars meant unlimited vino and
a swaggering good time--for a time. Pete knew this only too well. He
suggested the idea to Andy, who concurred with enthusiasm.

"Cholas is no good anyhow," blurted Andy. "You ain't robbin' nobody
when you buy a Chola outfit. Let's go!"

Montoya, who sat by the fire, coughed.

"'Course, I was meanin' some Cholas," said Andy.

The old herder smiled to himself. The boys amused him. He had been
young once--and very poor. And he had ridden range in his youthful
days. A mild fatalist, he knew that Pete would not stay long, and
Montoya was big enough not to begrudge the muchacho any happiness.

"I'm goin' over to town for a spell," explained Pete.

Montoya nodded.

"I'm comin' back," Pete added, a bit embarrassed.

"Bueno. I shall be here."

Pete, a bit flustered, did not quite catch the mild sarcasm, but he
breathed more freely when they were out of sight of camp. "He's sure a
white Mexican," he told Andy. "I kind o' hate to leave him, at that."