"That--where
you got hurt botherin' you, Pete?" he asked with real solicitude.
"Some." And realizing that he had scarcely spoken to his old chum
since they awakened, he asked him many questions about the ranch, and
the boys, as they drifted across the mesa and down the trail that led
to the Concho.
But it was not the twinge of his old wound that made Pete so silent.
He was suffering a disappointment. He had believed sincerely that what
he had been through, in the past six months especially, had changed
him--that he would have to have a mighty stern cause to pull a gun on a
man again; and at the first hint of danger he had been ready to kill.
He wondered if he would ever lose that hunted feeling that had brought
him to his feet and all but crooked his trigger-finger before he had
actually realized what had startled him. But one thing was
certain--Andy would never know just _how_ close he had come to being
killed; Andy, who had joked lightly about his own ride into the desert
with an angry posse trailing him, as he wore Pete's black Stetson,
"that he might give them a good run for their money," he had laughingly
said.
Pages:
538
539
540
541
542
543
544
545
546
547
548
549
550
551
552
553
554
555
556
557
558
559
560
561
562