by Andre Norton
"Wal, now, sonny, you ain't really wantin' this here book back? Never knowed any li'l boy what warn't glad to see th' last o' a book. Better git away from a real man 'fore you gits yore backside warmed. That's what th' teacher does to smarty kids, ain't it?"
"You'd better watch out, Sam." Again the tall man cut in. Sam was still grinning, but there was a curve of lip which was far from any real humor, even that provoked by the practical jokes of a barracks bully. "One of them kids had been sayin' as how he rode with Forrest, regular li'l red-hot Reb, he is. Stomp all over us ... that's what you Rebs has been promisin' to do, ain't it? Gonna stomp all over any Blue Bellies as comes into this town? Well, we ain't bein' booted—not easy—an' not by you, Reb!"
A second, perhaps more—that much warning Drew had before the speaker lurched from the bar straight for him. What had happened, how this had sprung up out of nothing, the Kentuckian could not understand. But he knew well that he was under an attack delivered with a purpose, and with all the dirty tricks of a no-rules, back-alley fighter.
8
Only once before, when some river toughs had ganged up on the scouts, had Drew had to use fists to beat his way out of an argument. But that had been a round dance at Court House Day compared to this. Within moments the Kentuckian knew that he was no match for the trooper, that he would be lucky if he could get out of this unmaimed. The fellow knew every dirty trick and was eager to use them all. Drew tried only to keep on his feet and out of the other's grip. Once down, he knew he would have no chance at all.
Then he was jerked back, off balance, staggering on to bring up against the wall. He caught at the solid backing and somehow remained upright, seeing hazily through one eye. The other was puffing closed, and his lip was torn, a trickle of blood rising there to drip down his chin. He put both hands to his middle where more than one of the pile-driver knocks had landed, and tried to understand what was happening.
Sergeant Muller ... that was Muller standing over the man on the floor. And Nye ... Reese Topham ... suddenly the cantina was very well populated. Drew turned his head cautiously to see on his blind side. Anse was down! The Kentuckian stood away from the wall, lurched out to fall to his knees. He rolled the Texan over on his back. Anse's eyes fluttered open, and he looked up dazedly. There was an angry red mark on his chin just an inch or so away from the point of his jaw.
"Now, just what devil's business is goin' on here?" The sergeant's voice was a roar to hurt the ears. Somehow Drew got an arm under Anse's shoulders and tried to hoist him up. The Kentuckian swallowed blood from his lip and glared at Muller.
"Suppose you ask those high-binders of yours!" he snapped. And once more it was Sergeant Rennie who spoke.
Other hands joined his to boost Anse. With Topham's aid Drew regained his feet and got the staggering Texan, still half unconscious, onto a chair.
"I'm interested, too." The cantina owner's drawl was as slow as ever, but it held a note of a whiplash.
"Them soldiers...." Fowler appeared, the bar-side shotgun across his arm—"they jumped th' boys. I saw it, myself."
"Yeah, told yuh these town buzzards're all th' same. Stick together an' have it in for th' army!"
Drew could not see which of the troopers had burst out with that, but in his present mood all bluecoats were the enemy.
"Dirty Yanks!" Anse's eyes were fully focused now—right on the sergeant. Anse struggled to get up, but Topham's hands on his shoulders held him down. His hand went to his holster, and Drew's fist came down on the Texan's wrist, hard.
"See that thar, Sarge! Th' stinkin' polecat of a Reb was gonna draw on you! Told you, they's all alike. Th' war ain't over; we jus' gotta keep on lickin' 'em. Give us room, an' we'll do it again—now!"
Anse's face was green-white under the weathering, save for the wound on his jaw. He was watching Muller as if the sergeant, rather than his men, was the focal point of any future attack.
"You—Stevens—shut your trap!" Muller's roar brought silence. Drew could actually hear the panting breaths of the men now.
"Mitchell, what happened here?" Muller turned to the man at his far right.
The trooper was younger than the rest, his face still holding something of a boyish roundness. His eyes shifted under the sergeant's steady, boring stare, and he glanced at the rest of his companions, the two disheveled fighters, the lanky man picking up a forage cap and handing it to one of them.
"I dunno, Sergeant. Th' boys ... they was jus' funnin'. They didn't meant nothin', jus' funnin'. Then these here Rebs, they come right after Helms, was gonna jump him from behind. An' Danny waded in jus' to keep that one"—the boy pointed straight at Drew—"offa Helms. That's what happened. Th' boys didn't mean no harm—jus' havin' a little fun—when these Rebs jumped 'em!"
Drew pulled up his neckerchief and dabbed at his cut lip. Anse had subsided, though he was still watching the sergeant with an unrelenting gaze. The Kentuckian tried to remember where Fowler had been during the fracas. He had spoken up for them already, but would Muller accept his testimony over that of his own men? There was already ill feeling between the army and the town. Drew remembered Don Cazar's encounter with Bayliss at Kells' stable. What had Reese Topham said then? That the captain was only waiting to make trouble for Rennie. And now here he was himself—one of Rennie's riders—involved in a saloon fight with troopers. Drew began to realize that this could be even worse than the physical punishment he and Anse had suffered.
"You ... bartender—" The sergeant now looked to Fowler. "What'd you see?"
"You ain't gonna take his word for it, for anythin' in this mudhole of a town, are you, Sarge? They'd all lie their heads off to git a trooper into trouble. Wouldn't you now?" The lanky man sidled along the bar to snarl at Fowler.
"Stevens, shut that big mouth of yours, an' I ain't gonna say that agin! All right, Fowler, tell me what you saw!"
Fowler slid the shotgun out of sight, apparently sure that an armistice, at least, was assured.
"Th' boys"—he nodded at Drew and Anse—"were sittin' at that table, mindin' their own business. Helms, he went over an' picked up a book——"
"A book!" Muller's craggy features mirrored astonishment. "What book? Why?"
Topham moved and suddenly they were all watching him. He stooped, picked up the dark-brown volume, and a torn page fluttered to the floor. He gathered that up, too, and tucked it back in the proper place.
"It would seem, Sergeant," he remarked, "that there was a book involved. And if your men didn't bring it in here, then Kirby or his friend must have. This is certainly not a cantina fixture. Hmm, History of the Conquest of Mexico," he read the title on the cracked spine. "There are more books, I see." He stepped to the side of the overturned table, gathered the other two volumes, and placed them together in a neat pile on the bar. All of the men continued to watch him as if his actions were highly significant.
"So—" he turned to face Muller. "We have established that there was a book, in fact, three books."
"What'd you want with that book, Helms?" Muller demanded.
He was met by a scowl. "Nothin'. I was jus' funnin'—like Ben said. Then them Rebs started playin' rough, an' we jus' gave 'em a lesson."
Fowler snorted. "I say Helms started it, an' th' jumpin' went th' other way 'round, Sergeant. An' that's all I got to say."
"Well, it isn't all I have to say! Sergeant, just what is going on here?"
Whoever, having once heard that turkey cock crow, could ever forget it, thought Drew. Captain Bayliss strode in, powdery white dust graying his blue blouse, his face redder and more sun peeled than ever. The troopers behind Muller stiffened into wooden soldiers, all expression vanishing from their features until they matched each other in exact anonymity.
"Sergeant, take those two men into custody." A jerk of the head indicated Drew and Anse. The Kentuckian straightened.
"On what charge, Captain?" he got out.
"Attacking a United States soldier."
"In performance of
his duty, Captain?" Reese Topham cut in. "I hardly think you can say that. Your men were apparently off duty. At least they were in here, drinking, too. You did serve them, Fowler?"
"Sure did, boss! Let's see now ... Helms, he had whisky; so did Stevens. Mitchell, now, he had a beer——"
"It remains that they were attacked while wearing the uniform!" Bayliss' glare now included the full company before him.
"From what I've heard, they did the attacking," Topham pointed out. "At least Helms seems to have given provocation. No, Captain Bayliss, your men were in here drinking. They started a brawl. Your sergeant very rightly broke it up. That's the sum of the matter!"
Bayliss' high color was fading. "You want it left that way, Topham?" he asked icily. "This only confirms my contention that matters in Tubacca are completely out of control, that the Rebel element has the backing of the citizens. I shall so report it."
"That is your privilege." Topham nodded. "But this is still Tubacca and not your camp, Captain. And my cantina. If you want to declare my establishment out of bounds for your men, that is also your privilege."
"I do so—immediately! Sergeant, get these men out of here!"
"What about the prisoners, sir?"
"I think the captain will agree there are no prisoners," Topham said. "We would be obliged to give evidence at any army hearing, Captain. Kirby here is not a troublemaker. I would unhesitatingly vouch for him."
Bayliss looked directly at Drew.
"You have a job? A reason for being in town?" He shot the questions as he might have shot slugs from his Colt. Nye answered before Drew could.
"He sure has a job, Cap'n. He's ridin' th' rough string for Rennie. An' he came to town with them remounts you're buyin'. An' what Topham says is true, th' kid ain't no troublemaker. He's 'bout th' most peaceful hombre I ever rode with."
"Rider for Rennie, eh? I might have known!" Bayliss snapped. "And what about this one—he riding for Rennie, too?" He pointed to Anse.
"He's my cousin," Drew returned. "He just got into town."
"Another Rebel?"
Anse stood up. "If you mean was I with th' Confederate army, Yankee—I sure was, from Shiloh clean through. Got me this to prove it. Do you want to see?" From the inner band of his hat he brought out a much creased paper. "No, you don't!" He twitched the sheet away when Bayliss reached for it. "I'll jus' let Mister Topham read it. I want to keep it safe." He handed the paper to the gambler.
"Parole, Captain, signed and made out properly," Topham reported. "Dated in Tennessee for a prisoner of war—June, 1865. I hardly think you can claim this is one of Kitchell's men, if that is what you have in mind."
"No, but he'll be out of this town or he'll answer to me. Both of you—next time you step over the line, I'm taking you both in!" Bayliss spoke now to Nye. "I heard young Shannon was here, that you had him in tow and that he's seen Kitchell. I want to talk to him."
"He's over to th' doc's, an' Doc'll have th' say 'bout that, Cap'n," Nye replied. "Johnny took a pretty bad crease 'longside his skull."
"He'll answer a few questions that badly need answering." Bayliss was already on his way to the door. Nye stepped back and let him pass. He grinned.
"Let him have it out with Doc. Ain't nobody runnin' a stampede over Doc Matthews, not even th' cap'n when he's got his tail up an' ready to hook sod with both horns. Only, lissen here, kid, maybe you'd better keep outta sight. Seems like a man who's waitin' to catch a fella makin' his boot mark in th' wrong pasture can sometimes do it."
"Nye's right," Topham agreed. "Bayliss can either catch you off guard or see you're provoked again into doing something he can rope you in for. I'd get back to the Range and stay there until things settle down a little and someone else takes the good captain's mind off you."
"What about Anse? You take him on, Nye?" Drew asked.
"I ain't got th' authority to hire, Kirby. But no reason why he can't go down th' trail with us. Old Man is always on lookout for a good rider. Soon as we see how Johnny's doin', we'll head south. I already sent Greyfeather back to tell the Old Man th' kid's hurt an' up here. Reese, what'd you think 'bout Bayliss? That he'll try to take over runnin' the town?"
"Might just," the gambler replied.
"Could he do it?"
"I hardly think so. What he's really out for is Hunt's hide. He doesn't want a powerful civilian ready to face up to him all the time. If he can discredit Don Cazar in this country, he figures he has it made."
Nye laughed shortly. "Lordy, what bottle did he suck out a dream like that? A lizard might jus' as well try to fight it out with a cougar an' think he hadda chance of winnin'. This here's th' Range, an' ain't nobody but th' Old Man runs th' Range! Bayliss, he's ridin' for a fall as will jar them big grinnin' teeth of his right outta his jaws!"
"Maybe, only there can be upsets." Topham looked thoughtful.
"What kind—and how?" Drew asked quickly.
Topham was playing with the three books, setting them up, putting them flat again. "Hunt didn't take sides during the war, but he did have Southern sympathies in part. After all, he was Texas-born. And Johnny joined Howard when they raised that Confederate troop here. He retreated with Sibley's force back east and fought through the rest of the war on the Southern side. Yes, Bayliss, given the right circumstances and a sympathetic listening ear in high circles, could make trouble for Rennie. Especially if the good captain had an incident on which to hang such a report."
"You kinda shoved him into that out-of-bounds order for th' Jacks, didn't you now?" Nye pushed his hat to the back of his head and lit a cigarillo.
"Muller and most of the boys can be counted on not to cause any more than the normal pay-night disturbances. But there're some.... What did happen here today, Kirby?"
Drew told it straight and flat in as few words as possible. And Topham's face was sober when he had finished. The gambler brought the top book of the pile down on the bar with a thud.
"I don't like it!"
"Jus' ornery meanness, warn't it? There's always a few hombres in any outfit as tries to push when they gits a slug or two under their belts," Nye observed.
"True. Only Helms went out of his way this time. And I'd like to know what triggered him into it. I can understand some roughhousing on his part—Stevens, too—providing these boys were on the prod in the beginning. But this book business was too deliberate. Books—" He held up the volume he was still fingering. "Where'd these come from anyway, Kirby?"
Drew retailed the story he had heard from Stein. Nye walked over to look at the display of reading matter, his interest plainly aroused.
"Lutterfield brought 'em in, eh? Now that's somethin'. Trunk in a cave ... Sounds like these might belong to one of them mine men—a super, maybe. They pulled out fast in '61, right after th' army left. Except for Hodges, an' th' Rebs threw him in jail after they took his business an' what cash he had on hand."
"Could be," Topham agreed. "But where they came from doesn't matter as much as why Helms chose to use them the way he did. However—and now I'm giving it to you straight, Kirby—this is once I'd follow Bayliss' orders. You and your cousin here had better make yourselves scarce."
"An' jus' why?" Anse demanded. "We ain't givin' you any double-tongue wag over this——"
"I'm not saying you are. I'm just saying that Bayliss and probably Helms—maybe others—will be waiting, just as the captain promised. You can be easily suckered into just such another fight. And they'd be smarter about it next time, so you won't have anyone to call their bluff in your favor. Once they get you into the camp stockade, it might be difficult to get you out. And this is something else, stranger, you went for your gun a few minutes ago. Kirby stopped you, but next time that could lead to real trouble."
"I can't see why—" Drew began.
"Well"—Anse was on the defensive—"a man can take jus' so much pushin', an' we had more'n that! Next time anybody lays his dirty hands on me, he's gonna know he's had him trouble, all right!"
"I
don't mean that." Drew waved Anse's retort aside. "I don't see why we were jumped in the first place. Unless it was because we happened to be here at a time when they wanted to start trouble?" He made that into a question and looked to Topham for the answer.
"Could be," the gambler admitted.
"Only you're not sure?" Drew persisted.
"Could be you were handy and they had some kind of a hint to start a ruckus just to show there ain't any proper law here. Could be that they knew you ride for Hunt and that made you just the game they wanted."
"Helms's kinda dumb to play any cute game," Nye protested. "An' th' sarge, he's always been a good guy, I don't see him bitin' happy on any such backhand orders."
"Not orders, no. Captain Bayliss is still too army to give any such orders. Helms's always been a troublemaker; he wouldn't need much more than a suggestion or two of the right sort. Helms, Stevens, Danny Birke, and that kid Mitchell. You're right so far, Nye." Topham grinned. "Like as not, I'm imaginin' things—a greenhorn huntin' Apaches behind every bush. None of that crew has the brains to see anything beyond the tip of his nose. No, I guess we can take it that you were handy and they had too much red-eye on empty stomachs. Only, I mean it, Kirby, you walk soft and get back to the Range as quick as you can."
"That suits me," Drew agreed.
"Come on over an' let Doc take a look at that face of yours," Nye ordered. "You look like you came up behind a mule an' the critter did a mite of dancin' backwards! You come 'long, too," he extended the invitation to include Anse.
His face patched up after a fashion, Drew lay full length on the hay in his old place over Shadow's stall back at Kells' stable. Anse sat crosslegged beside him, the bruise now a black shadow on his jaw.
"Somethin' 'bout this show's bad, plain as a black saddle on a white hoss. Nobody could be fannin' a six-gun for you personal, Drew, 'less you had a run-in before with one of them Blue Bellies." The Texan paused and Drew shook his head, wincing at the pain from his numerous cuts and bruises.