Next, we went to the gun shop where a second generation of management had already succeeded the original. Thomas Hawkes had sold me many a weapon over the years, yet his son, William, only grudgingly accepted my silver for an early model repeating rifle and some shells. Rock went wide-eyed when I turned them over to him.
“Try not to shoot yourself, any of your family, or me,” I said to the eager young man. “This is for hunting game.”
We next stopped at the livery stable where I saw a mustang gelding with the look of speed about him. When I asked Rock’s opinion, the youth hopped the fence to the corral and examined the animal more closely. After walking around and feeling the flanks and shoulders of the edgy, short-legged plains horse, Rock delivered his opinion.