boy roamed about the store, inspecting and commenting upon saddlery,
guns, canned goods, ready-made clothing, and showcase trinkets, his
ears alert for every word exchanged by the storekeeper and a chance
customer. Presently two cowboys clumped in, joshed with the
store-keeper, bought tobacco and ammunition--a most usual procedure,
and clumped out again. Young Pete strolled to the door and watched
them enter the adobe saloon across the way--Tony's Place--the
rendezvous of the riders of the high mesas. Again a group of cowboys
arrived, jesting and roughing their mounts. They entered the store,
bought ammunition, and drifted to the saloon. It was far from pay-day,
as Pete knew. It was also the busy season. There was some ulterior
reason for so many riders assembling in town. Pete decided to find out
just what they were up to.

After supper he meandered across to the saloon, passed around it, and
hid in an empty barrel near the rear door. He was uncomfortable, but
not unhappy. He listened for a chance word that might explain the
presence of so many cowboys in town that day. Frequently he heard
Gary's name mentioned. He had not seen Gary with the others. But the
talk was casual, and he learned nothing until some one remarked that it
was about time to drift along. They left in a body, taking the mesa
trail that led to the Blue. This was significant. They usually left
in groups of two or three, as their individual pleasure dictated. And
there was a business-like alertness about their movements that did not
escape Young Pete.

The Arizona stars were clear and keen when he crept round to the front
of the saloon and pattered across the road to the store. The
storekeeper was closing for the night. Young Pete, restlessly anxious
to follow the T-Bar-T men, invented an excuse to leave the storekeeper,