Pete sorely wanted to make a sharp retort, but he had learned the
wisdom of silence. He knew that he had made himself ridiculous before
these men. It would be hard to live down this thing. He deemed
himself sadly out of luck, but he never lost sight of the main chance
for an instant.

Bailey, through young Andy White, knew of Pete and was studying him.
The boy had self-possession, and he had not cursed the horse for
stumbling. He saw that Pete was making a fight to keep his temper.

"You lookin' for work?" he said kindly.

"I was headed that way," replied Pete.

"Can you rope?"

"Oh, some. I kin keep from tanglin' my feet in a rope when it's
hangin' on the horn and I'm standin' off a piece."

"Well, things are slack right now. Don't know as I could use you.
What's your name, anyhow?"

"I'm Pete Annersley. I reckon you know who my pop was."

Bailey nodded. "The T-Bar-T," he said, turning toward the men. They
shook their heads and were silent, gazing curiously at the boy, of whom
it was said that he had "bumped off" two T-Bar-T boys in a raid some
years ago. Young Pete felt his ground firmer beneath him. The men had
ceased laughing. If it had not been for that unfortunate stumble . . .