have been saving the money. You have not bought cartridges. I would
give you--"

"Hold on--you give me my money day before yesterday."

"Then you have a little till you get your wages from the Concho. It is
good."

"Oh, I'm broke all right," said Pete. "But that don't bother me none.
I paid Roth for that gun I swiped--"

"You steal the gun?"

"Well, it wa'n't jest _stealin'_ it. Roth he never paid me no wages,
so when I lit out I took her along and writ him it was for wages."

"Then why did you pay him?"

Pete frowned. "I dunno."

Montoya nodded. He stooped and fumbled in a pack. Pete wondered what
the old man was hunting for.

Presently, Montoya drew out the hand-carved belt and holster, held it
up, and inspected it critically. He felt of it with his calloused
hands, and finally gestured to Pete. "It is for you, muchacho. I made
it. Stand so. There, it should hang this way." Montoya buckled the
belt around Pete and stepped back. "A little to the front. Bueno!
Tie the thong round your leg--so. That is well! It is the present
from José Montoya. Sometimes you will remember--"