None of the Mexican boys he approached cared to leave home.  Things looked pretty blue for Pete.  The finding of the right boy meant his own freedom.  His contempt for the youth of Concho grew apace.  The Mexicans were a lazy lot, who either did not want to work or were loath to leave home and follow the sheep.  “Jest kids!” he remarked contemptuously as his fifth attempt failed.  “I could lick the whole bunch!”

Finally he located a half-grown youth who said he was willing to go.  Pete told him where to find Montoya and exacted a promise from the youth to go at once and apply for the place.  Pete hastened to the store and immediately forgot time, place, and even the fact that he had yet to get a job riding for the Concho outfit, in the eager joy of choosing a saddle, bridle, blanket, spurs, boots and chaps, to say nothing of a new Stetson and rope.  The sum total of these unpaid-for purchases rather staggered him.  His eighteen-odd dollars was as a fly-speck on the credit side of the ledger.  He had chosen the best of everything that Roth had in stock.  A little figuring convinced him that he would have to work several months before his outfit was paid for.  “If I git a job I’ll give you an order for my wages,” he told Roth.

“That’s all right, Pete; I ain’t worryin’.”

“Well—­I be, some,” said Pete.  “Lemme see—­fifty for the saddle, seven for the bridle—–­and she’s some bridle!—­and eighteen for the chaps—­fifteen for the boots—­that’s ninety dollars.  Gee whizz!  Then there’s four for that blanket and ten for them spurs.  That’s a hundred and four.  ’Course I could git along without a new lid.  Rope is three-fifty, and lid is ten.  One hundred and seventeen dollars for four bits.  Guess I’ll make it a hundred and twenty.  No use botherin’ about small change.  Gimme that pair of gloves.”

Roth had no hesitation in outfitting Pete.  The Concho cattlemen traded at his store.  He had extended credit to many a rider whom he trusted less than he did Pete.  Moreover, he was fond of the boy and wanted to see him placed where he could better himself.  “I’ve got you on the books for a hundred and twenty,” he told Pete, and Pete felt very proud and important.  “Now, if I could borrow a hoss for a spell, I’d jest fork him and ride over to see Bailey,” he asserted.  “I sure can’t pack this outfit over there.”

Roth grinned.  “Well, we might as well let the tail go with the hide.  There’s old Rowdy.  He ain’t much of a horse, but he’s got three good legs yet.  He starched a little forward, but he’ll make the trip over and back.  You can take him.”

“Honest?”

“Go ahead.”

Pete tingled with joyful anticipation as he strode from the store, his new rope in his hand.  He would rope that cayuse and just about burn the ground for the Concho!  Maybe he wouldn’t make young Andy White sit up!  The Ridin’ Kid from Powder River was walking on air when—­