AC dBooks

He had never had time to play. Everything he did, he did
seriously. So when he left Concho at dusk one summer evening, he did
not "run away" in any sense. He simply decided that it was time to go
elsewhere--and he went.
The old Mexican, Montoya, had a band of sheep in the high country.
Recently the sheep had drifted past Concho, and Pete, alive to anything
and everything that was going somewhere, had waited on the Mexican at
the store. Sugar, coffee, flour, and beans were packed on the shaggy
burros. Pete helped carry the supplies to the doorway and watched him
pack. The two sharp-nosed sheep-dogs interested Pete. They seemed so
alert, and yet so quietly satisfied with their lot. The last thing the
old Mexican did was to ask for a few cartridges. Pete did not
understand just what kind he wanted. With a secretiveness which
thrilled Pete clear to the toes, the old herder, in the shadowy rear of
the store, drew a heavy six-shooter from under his arm and passed it
stealthily to Pete, who recognized the caliber and found cartridges for
it. Pete's manner was equally stealthy.


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