To eke out the words he gave an extra swing to his twisted leg.  They came to a great freight wagon under a tree, with tackle showing that it was a six-horse outfit.

“Here we are!  ’Light down and unsaddle, Petey, and we’ll take off the packs.  Turn your horses loose.  Bobby’ll look out for them when he comes.  No need to hobble.  There!  Wash up?  Over yonder’s the pan.  I’ll pour your coffee and one for myself.  I’ve eaten already.  Pitch in!”

Pete equipped himself with tinware and cutlery, doubled one leg under and sat upon it before the fire.  From the ovens and skillets on the embers Pete heaped his plate with a savory stew, hot sourdough bread, fried rabbit, and canned corn fried to a delicate golden brown.  Pete took a deep draught of the unsweetened hot black coffee, placed the cup on the sand beside him, and gathered up knife and fork.

From the farther side of the fire Carr brought another skillet, containing jerky, with onions and canned tomatoes.

“From the recipe of a nobleman in the county,” he said.

“Now, then,” said Pete, “tell it to me.”

So Carr told him at length the story of the robbery and Stanley Mitchell’s arrest, aided by a few questions from Pete.

“And the funny thing is, there’s a lot of folks not so well satisfied yet, for all they found the money and notwithstandin’ the young feller himself didn’t make no holler.  They say he wasn’t that kind.  The deputy sher’f, ’special, says he don’t believe but what it was a frame-up to do him.  And Bull Pepper, that found the money hid in the saddle riggin’, says he:  ’That money was put there a-purpose to be found; fixed so it wouldn’t be missed.’”

He looked a question.

“Ya-as,” said Pete.

Thus encouraged, Carr continued: 

“And Old Mose Taylor, at the Mountain House—­Mitchell got his hearin’ before him, you know—­he says Mitchell ain’t surprised or excited or much worried, and makes no big kick, just sits quiet, a-studyin’, and he’s damned if he believes he ever done it.  Oh, yes!  Mose told me if I see you to tell you young Mitchell left some money in the safe for you.”

“Ya-as,” said Pete.  “Here comes your caballada.  Likely looking horses, Jack.”

“A leetle thin,” said Carr.

He took six nose-bags, already filled, and fed his wagon stock.  Bobby pulled the saddle from the Nan-na pony, tied him to a bush, and gave him breakfast from his own small morral.  Then he sidled toward the fire.

“Bobby, come over here,” said Bobby’s father.  “This is your stepuncle Pete.”

Bobby complied.  He gave Pete a small grimy hand and looked him over thoughtfully from tip to tip, opening his blue eyes to their widest for that purpose, under their long black lashes.

“You Stan Mitchell’s pardner?”

“I am that.”

“You goin’ to break him out o’ the pen?”

“Surest thing you know!” said Pete.