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-ná 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?"