"I'm goin' to town," he said,
"and git a boy to come out here. If I can't git a boy, I'll come back
and stay till you git one."
Montoya nodded and strode out to where the sheep had drifted. The dogs
jumped up and welcomed him. It was not customary for their master to
leave them for so long alone with the flock. Their wagging tails and
general attitude expressed relief.
Pete, topping the rise that hides the town of Concho from the northern
vistas, turned and looked back. Far below, on a slightly rounded knoll
stood the old herder, a solitary figure in the wide expanse of mesa and
morning sunlight. Pete swung his hat. Montoya raised his arm in a
gesture of good-will and farewell. Pete might have to come back, but
Montoya doubted it. He knew Pete. If there was anything that looked
like a boy available in Concho, Pete would induce that boy to take his
place with Montoya, if he had to resort to force to do so.
Youth on the hilltop! Youth pausing to gaze back for a moment on a
pleasant vista of sunshine and long, lazy days--Pete brushed his arm
across his eyes.
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