"
"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 . . .
"You're sportin' a right good rig," said the foreman.
"I aim to," said Pete quickly. "If I hadn't gone broke buyin' it, I'd
ride up here on a real hoss."
"Things are pretty slack right now," said Bailey. "Glad to see
you--but they won't be nothin' doin' till fall. Won't you set down?
We're goin' to eat right soon."
"Thanks. I ain't a-missin' a chanct to eat. And I reckon ole Rowdy
there could do somethin' in that line hisself."
Bailey smiled. "Turn your horse into the corral. Better pack your
saddle over here. That pup will chew them new latigos if he gets near
it.
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