Pete Domley's white horse had appeared on the path leading from Tenney's Crossing, but Pete was not alone on the horse. Ahead of him, clutched firmly in Pete's strong hands, was Tad. Pete was also packing a rifle, something he seldom did unless he intended to go hunting. He reined his horse to a halt beside Joe.
"I figure this is your business!"
"What's my business?"
Pete said firmly, "Tell him, Tad."
Tad's face was sullen and angry, with every freckle livid. He stared almost haughtily at his father and Joe's eyes narrowed. He said,
"That's my rifle too, huh?"
"Right."
Tad snapped, "If a man's goin' west he'd better know how to fight Indians. And I didn't hit him."
"That's right," Pete agreed, "but you couldn't have shoved a knife blade between the place where that bullet hit the wall and his head."
Joe felt hot anger rise. "Who did he shoot at?"