When the sheep were turned and had resumed their grazing, Montoya, who had caught the roped dog, strode to Pete.  “It was a bad thing to do,” he said easily.  “Why did you rope him?”

Pete scowled and stammered.  “Thought he was a lion.  He came a-tearin’ up, and I was thinkin’ o’ lions.  So, I jest nacherally loops him.  I was praticin’.”

“First it was the gun.  Now it is the rope,” said Montoya, smiling.  “You make a vaquero, some day, I think.”

“Oh, mebby.  But I sure won’t quit you till you get ’em over the range, even if I do git a chanct to ride for some outfit.  But I ain’t got a job, yet.”

“I would not like to have you go,” said Montoya.  “You are a good boy.”

Pete had nothing to say.  He wished Montoya had not called him “a good boy.”  That hurt.  If Montoya had only scolded him for stampeding the sheep. . . .  But Montoya had spoken in a kindly way.

CHAPTER VII

PLANS

Several nights later a horseman rode into Montoya’s camp.  Pete, getting supper, pretended great indifference until he heard the horseman’s voice.  It was young Andy White who had come to visit, as he had promised.  Pete’s heart went warm, and he immediately found an extra tin plate and put more coffee in the pot.  He was glad to see White, but he was not going to let White know how glad.  He greeted the young cowboy in an offhand way, taking the attitude of being so engrossed with cooking that he could not pay great attention to a stray horseman just then.  But later in the evening, after they had eaten, the two youths chatted and smoked while Montoya listened and gazed out across the evening mesa.  He understood.  Pete was tired of the sheep and would sooner or later take up with the cattle.  That was natural enough.  He liked Pete; really felt as a father toward him.  And the old Mexican, who was skilled in working leather, thought of the hand-carved holster and belt that he had been working on during his spare time—­a present that he had intended giving Pete when it was completed.  There was still a little work to do on the holster; the flower pattern in the center was not quite finished.  To-morrow he would finish it—­for he wanted to have it ready.  If Pete stayed with him, he would have it—­and if Pete left he should have something by which to remember Jose de la Crux Montoya—­something to remember him by, and something useful—­for even then Montoya realized that if Young Pete survived the present hazards that challenged youth and an adventurous heart, some day, as a man grown, Pete would thoroughly appreciate the gift.  A good holster, built on the right lines and one from which a gun came easily, would be very useful to a man of Pete’s inclinations.  And when it came to the fit and hang of a holster, Montoya knew his business.