by Andre Norton
17
Drew struggled wildly but he could not break the grip which held him down.He was looking up into the face of Greyfeather, and none of his writhingmade any impression on the Pima's hold. There was a sprinkle of shots;then a whirl of the wind brought sand up over them, blinding eyes, fillingmouth and nose. Even the Indian flinched from that and Drew managed totear loose. He rolled down the grade, bringing up against a small treewith a jolt which drove most of the air from his laboring lungs.
He pulled his arm up across his face, trying to shield his eyes from theblast which thickened steadily, gasping for air to breathe. And the windvoiced a howl which arose as alarmingly as the stallions' screaming.
Stallions! Drew clawed his way up to his knees. But there was no seeingthrough that murk to where Shiloh had been. Then he was on his feet,stumbling along ... the big gray must be hidden somewhere....
"Drew!" A figure blundered into him from behind, almost sending him to theground again. "Get down, you fool!" Hands clutched at his body, trying topull him earthward.
"Let me go! Shiloh--"
"Get down!" Anse's whole weight struck him, and he fell, the Texansprawling with him. It was only then that he heard the spatter of riflefire and understood that they were in the middle of an exchange of leadslugs.
"Keep down!" Anse, his voice ragged with anger, snapped the command inDrew's ear. "What in thunder you tryin' to do? You gone completely loco,_amigo_? Walkin' right out to git yourself shot like them bullets wasnothin' but pecans or somethin' like!"
For the first time Drew realized what he had done--blown Rennie's carefullyplanned trap sky-high. His shot at the Pinto must have been warning enoughfor the fugitives. But why were they trying to make a fight of it now,when to cut and run would have been the smartest move? Unless, having seenonly one man, they believed he was alone. He tried to rub the dust fromhis eyes and think coherently. But all that was in the forefront of hismind was that last sight of Shiloh following the Pinto to battle.
"All right." Drew shifted in Anse's hold. "It's all right."
Not that it was, but at least that was the best way he could express hisreturn to reason. And the Texan appeared to understand, for his griploosened.
The dust which had blown up an opaque curtain dropped as quickly. They laytogether on the far side of the ridge, but the space below was empty. Theysaw no men, no battling horses--nothing.
"They've hightailed it," someone called from the crest of the ridge.
"I tell you ... I got one of 'em.... He's over between those two bushes.He'd pulled up to take up th' fella runnin' an' went out of th' saddle.Other man got his hoss an' lit out."
Drew stood up.
"Where you goin' now?" Anse demanded.
"Where d' you think?" the Kentuckian asked dully. "After Shiloh."
He went on foot, down the slope, across the open where the gray hadunseated his rider and turned to take up the Pinto's challenge. Since thehorses were no longer in sight, there was only one way they could havegone--to the east.
Drew was in the open when another of those wild sand and dust flurriescaught him. Buffeted here and there, staggering, his arm up over his face,he was driven by its force until he brought up against a rock wall. Withthat as a guide he kept on stubbornly, because once more he had heard thescream of the Pinto. In triumph? Drew shivered under a thrust of fearwhich left him sick. He was sure that that murderous red-and-white devilhad finished off Shiloh.
Along the wall ... keep going.... The dust was thinning again. Drew's handwas on the Colt Topham had supplied. The Spencer lay back on the ridge.But if any kind of fortune favored him now, he was going to shoot thePinto--if it was the last thing he ever did.
There was a clear space ahead once more. The sullen gray sky gave onlydulled light, but enough to see by.
Drew had heard many stories of the fury of the stallion battle, and he hadseen fearsome scars ridging the hides of two of the Range studs. Butactually witnessing such a battle shook him. Teeth ... hoofs ... blood onShiloh's shoulders and flanks ... a strip of flesh dangling.... But Drewsaw that the Pinto was marked, too.
The wild horse was trying for a final throat grip, and
Shiloh was on the defensive, running, wheeling to kick, once getting homeon the Pinto's ribs so that the spotted horse squealed with pain. Shilohhad a torn ear and a gash open on his neck. The two battlers twisted andturned in a mad fury of movement.
Drew edged on, Colt ready. But to fire now was impossible.
The Pinto's hoofs crashed against the saddle and Shiloh gave ground. Witha scream of triumph the wild one's head snaked out, teeth ready to set onthe larger horse's throat. Hopelessly, Drew shot--it was all he could do.
The white-and-red head tossed. Shiloh had wrenched back. The Pinto droveagainst the gray and crashed down. It lay kicking as the larger horse hitout with forefeet, bringing them heavily down on the Pinto. The Pinto letout a cry of rage and pain that seemed to startle even Shiloh. The graybacked away from his writhing enemy and stood shivering, his headoutstretched, nostrils distended. Drew fired for the second time and thehelpless kicking was stilled.
Shiloh moved, limping. Blood matted with dust stained his coat, making himalmost as red and white as the Range stud. Drew holstered the Colt andwent to his horse, crooning softly as he caught one of the chewed andbroken reins.
He was trying to examine what seemed to him terrible wounds, when Shilohstarted neighing. The Kentuckian looked back. Anse and Rennie, withTeodoro and Chino bringing up the rear, were coming. The young mustangerwent to look down at the Pinto.
"He is dead." That was an observation rather than a question. Teodoroknelt in the dust, drew his knife and cut loose strands of the long manehair.
"I shot him." Drew was more intent on Shiloh's wounds. "He was killin'Shiloh."
He pushed back the thought that although his horse was still on its feet,the Pinto might have killed him, after all. Except for horses ripped byshellfire in battle, Drew had never seen any wounds such as these. He wasdeadly afraid that those two bullets had not really saved the stud.
"Let's have a look, Chino, bring my saddlebags!" Hunt Rennie was besideDrew. "Can you lead him back to the water hole?" he asked. "See if he'llwalk."
Somehow they did it--Drew and Anse, Rennie and Teodoro. They coaxed, led,supported Shiloh when they could, and brought him to the water hole. Andthen they worked to stop the weakening flow of blood. Drew kept the younghorse quiet while Rennie stitched up the worst of the tears.
"He'll do." Rennie washed his hands. "Can't move him for some time,though. He must have given a good account of himself meeting that murdererfor the first time. Lucky ..."
"Suh--" Drew found it difficult to face Rennie. As his anxiety over thehorse's condition had faded, he had had time to think of something beyondhis own affairs. "I want to say thanks." He got that out in a rush beforehe added the admission he must make: "I spoiled your plan to takeKitchell."
Rennie's dark eyes held his as they had always been able to do. Then Drewhad the odd sensation that the two of them were all alone in a place notbound by space or time.
"Don't say you're sorry. If you did, I wouldn't believe you. You made themove you had to. If it had been Oro out there--I would have done the same."
Drew responded to that impulsively. "You're generous, suh."
His father's black brows drew together in a slight frown. "Generous? No,that's the truth. As for losing Kitchell--we may not have. Those who gotaway have Greyfeather, Nye, and others on their trail. And I do not thinkthey will find such hunters easy to fool. Also, we have a prisoner...."
_Don_ Cazar's acceptance of their failure was so placid that Drew was ledto make a wild guess.
"Not Kitchell himself!"
Rennie smiled. "No, we weren't that lucky--_you_ must have had the lion'sshare of that commodity here today. We have a Mexican, name unknown. Hewas shot down while trying to pick up the rider Shiloh got rid of--who justmight have been Kitchell. But this prisoner may be move
d to tell us aboutthe three who got away. If these wind storms keep up, they could powderover the trail and the boys will need help."
The Mexican, his shoulder bandaged, was propped up against the saddle theyhad taken from Shiloh. He stared at them sullenly, his gaze finallycentering on _Don_ Cazar when they took places opposite him.
"Some of that coffee for him, Chino," Rennie called. Herrera brought overa tin cup from the fire now blazing. As the Mexican took it awkwardly withhis left hand, still watching Rennie glassily over the brim, the latterused fluent Spanish, only a word or two of which Drew understood.
The man grunted and then was assailed by Chino in a hotter flow of hisnative tongue, until Rennie silenced the vaquero's outburst with a wave ofhand and spoke again.
Drew sniffed the aroma of the bacon Donally was frying, his stomachprotesting plaintively.
"What are they sayin'?" he whispered to Anse.
"Old Man pointed out nice an' plain what th' Mex's in for, lessen hespeaks up. This hombre, Rennie thinks maybe he don't run regular withKitchell--more'n likely he came up from th' south, could be to guide th'gang back there some place. Iffen th' Mex can prove that, th' Old Manpromises to talk for him with th' law. So far he ain't said nothin' muchin answer."
They ate. The prisoner's round face expressed surprise when Rennie had himprovided with an equal share. He sucked his greasy fingers avidly after hehad wolfed down his portion. A moment later he asked a question of hisown. Rennie replied, nodding vigorously, as if to make assent moreemphatic. Anse translated.
"Th' Mex wanted to know if th' Old Man meant what he said 'bout talkin' upto th' law. If so, he may loosen his jaw some. I'd say, if he's a guidefrom down there, he wouldn't be too set on coverin' for Kitchell--not whenthat might mean gettin' his own neck stretched. Yeah ... now he'sbeginnin' to run right over at th' lip."
The prisoner did loose a flood of words, Rennie and Chino listeningintently, Donally coming to stand behind the others. Drew guessed by hischanging expressions that the Anglo rider was as much at home in Spanishas Anse. The Kentuckian regretted his own ignorance; the few words he hadpicked up along the trail from Texas certainly were no help now.
The Mexican wiped his good hand up and down the front of his worn jacket,and then smoothed a patch of soil. On it he drew lines and explained eachof them, much as Hilario Trinfan had done for the horse hunters daysearlier.
"What's he sayin' now?" Drew demanded of Anse.
"That it's true he was sent to guide Kitchell south. That train of hossesan' loot was th' gang's prime pickin's. Some of it was to grease their wayin with this hombre's _patron_--don't know who _he_ is--some Mex gineral orsuch. Kitchell, he rode behind because he had waited for a gringo to meethim. They was makin' up time when they heard th' fight goin' on in th'pass. Kitchell headed back here to fill canteens. Th' Mex was goin' toguide 'em south by another trail--one he knows. He's layin' it out for th'Old Man now. It's a pretty rough one; they'd have to take it slow. Couldbe we could catch up before Kitchell makes it--'specially since he don'thave this Mex leadin' him now."
When it was necessary Rennie could move fast. He was on his feet givingorders almost before Anse had finished the translation. Their party was tobe split in two. Drew and Anse were to stay with the wounded Mexican andShiloh, and prepare to defend the water hole if the outlaws made a secondattempt to come in. The rest of them would ride for an already designatedrendezvous point where they would meet the party sent to trace thefugitives.
"Why do I stay, suh?" Anse protested when _Don_ Cazar had finished.
"You can tend that arm better on the ground than in the saddle."
"Ain't no hurt there any more." Anse hurriedly pulled it from the sling."Anyways, that ain't m' shootin' hand, neither!" But one look at HuntRennie's face reduced him to muttering.
Drew watched their preparations quietly. Then he gathered up two canteensand filled them at the water hole, went back to loop their carry strapsover Hunt Rennie's saddle horn. Anse had a bad arm, so it was right thathe should not go chasing hell-for-leather over rough country. But DrewRennie--he was left because he was useless in another way. He was a man whocould not be depended upon, who had sprung their trap because he caredmore for a horse than he did for the success of Rennie's mission.
And in a way Hunt Rennie was perfectly just in that judgment. If it wereall to do over again, Drew knew he would make exactly the same choice.Shiloh was his--about the only good thing he had ever possessed, or mightever have in the future. If, in order to keep Shiloh, he had to give upwhat he knew now was a very vague dream--he would surrender the dream everytime.
Although he knew that was the truth, the Kentuckian was desperatelyunhappy as he made a lengthy business of adjusting the canteens. About theworst words one could ever speak, or think, were "too late." This was alltoo late--twenty years too late. They might have had something goodtogether, he and Hunt Rennie. Now it was too late.
As Drew heard the crunch of boots on gravel close behind him, he swungaround. "Full canteens," he blurted out. And then, ashamed of his ownconfusion, he forced himself to look straight at his father. "Good luck,suh."
"We'll need it. I'm leaving you Jose--he'll do some prowling. Wouldn't dofor you to be jumped by Apaches. If we don't come back in three or fourdays and Shiloh's able to travel, you take the Mexican and head back tothe Stronghold--understand? I mean that."
"Yes, suh." Drew had lost his right to protest, lost it the instant he hadbetrayed their ambush. Now he turned quickly and hurried to where Shilohstood. The last thing he wanted to see was Hunt Rennie ride away.
Anse kicked earth over the fire when they were gone. "No use showin'smoke," he remarked, and Drew readily agreed. The horses, with theexception of Shiloh, were hobbled and allowed the restricted freedom ofthe pocket-sized meadow running back from the water hole. Anse and Drewdivided the night into two-hour watches.
"Don't see as how they'd be fool enough to try chewin' back on their trailagain, though," Anse commented.
"They need water. Accordin' to what this guide of theirs says, they'llneed it doubly bad before they finish that road of his. They might just becrazy enough to try here--men have gotten away with tricks such as thatbefore."
"Drew." Anse was only a shadow among shadows, a voice out of the dark now."You made up your mind about what you're goin' to do when this is allover?"
"Pull out--California maybe. I don't know."
"Sure you don't want to stay?"
"No!" Drew put explosive emphasis into his reply.
"A man can be too stubborn an' stiff-necked for his own good--"
"A man has to do what he has to," Drew snapped. "I'm turnin' in. Give meth' nudge when it's time."
He rolled in a blanket, settled himself with his Colt close to hand, andlay gazing up into the cloudy sky. What was the matter with him, anyway?All he had to do was stick to his decision. And that _was_ the best onefor him. Resolutely he closed his eyes and tried to will his mind a blank,himself into slumber.
"Drew--!"
Before his eyes were fairly open his hand was reaching for the Colt, onlyto meet a numbing blow on the wrist. The Kentuckian rolled in instinctivereaction and a second, body-jarring stroke caught him in the ribs. He wasleft gasping, still not fully aware of what had happened.
"All right, you--on your feet!" A hand hooked in the collar of his coat tojerk him up. Somehow Drew did find his feet and stood bent over, his handsto his bruised side, breathing in small painful gasps. A rib had eitherbeen broken in that assault, or it was cracked.
There were two--three--four figures moving in the moonlight. Then the onefronting him turned and he saw the face clearly. Shannon!
"Only three of 'em--Benito an' these two," one of the others reported.
"How's Benito?" There was authority in that inquiry, but it came from theone man who kept well back in the shadows.
"Got him a holed shoulder."
"Able to ride?"
"Dunno, suh."
"He'd better be
. We need him to find Graverro. These two we don't need."
"That's where you're wrong, Colonel. This here's about th' best cover wecould git us now." Shannon laughed. "Mister Drew Rennie, come outtaKentucky to find his pa--touchin' story, ain't it? Real touchin'--likesomethin' outta a book. Well, does his pa find us, his sonny boy'd be realhandy, now wouldn't he?"
"You have a point, Shannon. We'll take him."
"An' th' other one, Colonel, suh?"
Kitchell--if Kitchell that shadow was--came out into the moonlight. He worethe gray shell jacket of a Confederate cavalryman, and the light glintedon the cords of a field officer's hat.
"Who are you, boy?" He faced to the left and Drew looked in the samedirection.
Anse stood there, the barrel of a Colt pushed against him just above thebelt line.
"Anson Kirby."
Shannon laughed again. "'Nother big man--says he rode with GeneralForrest!"
"That true, Kirby, you were one of General Forrest's command?"
"It's true," Anse drawled. "Mean's nothin' now, th' war's long gone,hombre."
"Maybe it's over back east--not here! You stayed to the end, boy?"
"Yankees took me prisoner before that."
"Sergeant Wayne!"
"Yes, suh?" Anse's captor responded.
"Put him to sleep!"