None of the Mexican boys he approached cared to leave home. Things
looked pretty blue for Pete. The finding of the right boy meant his
own freedom. His contempt for the youth of Concho grew apace. The
Mexicans were a lazy lot, who either did not want to work or were loath
to leave home and follow the sheep. "Jest kids!" he remarked
contemptuously as his fifth attempt failed. "I could lick the whole
bunch!"
Finally he located a half-grown youth who said he was willing to go.
Pete told him where to find Montoya and exacted a promise from the
youth to go at once and apply for the place. Pete hastened to the
store and immediately forgot time, place, and even the fact that he had
yet to get a job riding for the Concho outfit, in the eager joy of
choosing a saddle, bridle, blanket, spurs, boots and chaps, to say
nothing of a new Stetson and rope. The sum total of these unpaid-for
purchases rather staggered him. His eighteen-odd dollars was as a
fly-speck on the credit side of the ledger. He had chosen the best of
everything that Roth had in stock. A little figuring convinced him
that he would have to work several months before his outfit was paid
for.
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