He followed Annersley, who told him to put the gun
back in the corner.
"Got to clean her first," asserted Young Pete.
"You look out you don't shoot yourself," said Annersley from the
kitchen.
"Huh," came from the ambitious, young hunter of feathered game, "I know
all about guns--and this here ole musket sure needs cleanin' bad. She
liked to kicked my doggone head off."
They ate what was left of the hen, and a portion of the rooster. After
supper Annersley sat outside with the boy and talked to him kindly.
Slowly it dawned upon Young Pete that it was not considered good form
in the best families of Arizona to slay law-abiding roosters without
explicit directions and permission from their owners. The old man
concluded with a promise that if Young Pete liked to shoot, he should
some day have a gun of his own if he, in turn, would agree to do no
shooting without permission. The promise of a real gun of his own
touched Young Pete's tough little heart. He stuck out his hand. The
compact was sealed.
"Git a thirty-thirty," he suggested.
"What do you know about thirty-thirties?"
"Huh, I know lots.
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