“So it is with the sheep,” said Montoya casually.  “These we will take away, for the sheep will smell the blood and not go down the trail.”  And he pointed to the ram and the ewe that Pete had shot.  “I will go to the camp and unpack.  You have killed two good sheep, but you have saved many.”

Pete said nothing about the battle of the ants.  He knew that he had been remiss, but he thought that in eventually turning the sheep he had made up for it.

And because Pete was energetic, self-reliant, and steady, capable of taking the burros into town and packing back provisions promptly—­for Pete, unlike most boys, did not care to loaf about town—­the old herder became exceedingly fond of him, although he seldom showed it in a direct way.  Rather, he taught Pete Mexican—­colloquialisms and idioms that are not found in books—­until Pete, who already knew enough of the language to get along handily, became thoroughly at home whenever he chanced to meet a Mexican—­herder, cowboy, or storekeeper.  Naturally, Pete did not appreciate the value of this until later—­when his familiarity with the language helped him out of many a tight place.  But what Pete did appreciate was the old herder’s skill with the six-gun—­his uncanny ability to shoot from any position on the instant and to use the gun with either hand with equal facility.  In one of the desert towns Pete had traded a mountain-lion skin for a belt and holster and several boxes of cartridges to boot, for Pete was keen at bargaining.  Later the old Mexican cut down the belt to fit Pete and taught him how to hang the gun to the best advantage.  Then he taught Pete to “draw,” impressing upon him that while accuracy was exceedingly desirable, a quick draw was absolutely essential.  Pete practiced early and late, more than disgusted because Montoya made him practice with an empty gun.  He “threw down” on moving sheep, the dogs, an occasional distant horseman, and even on Montoya himself, but never until the old herder had examined the weapon and assured himself that he would not be suddenly bumped off into glory by his ambitious assistant.  As some men play cards, partly for amusement and partly to keep their hands in, so Pete and Montoya played the six-gun game, and neither seemed to tire of the amusement.  Montoya frequently unloaded his own gun and making sure that Pete had done likewise, the old herder would stand opposite him and count—­“Una, duo, tres,” and the twain would “go for their guns” to see who would get in the first theoretical shot.  At first Pete was slow.  His gun was too heavy for him and his wrist was not quick.  But he stuck to it until finally he could draw and shoot almost as fast as his teacher.  Later they practiced while sitting down, while reclining propped on one elbow, and finally from a prone position, where Pete learned to roll sideways, draw and shoot even as a side-winder of the desert strikes without coiling.  Montoya taught him to throw a shot