Rebel Spurs Part 5

"Saw that one, too. Unusual colorin' all right."

"He put a white stud-white as milk-to run with some light buckskin mares back 'fore th' war. First colt out of that thar breedin' was that Oro hoss. Never got 'nother like him; he's special. Shows his heels good, too.

They's gonna race him out on th' flats tomorrow if anyone is fool 'nough to say as he has a hoss as can beat Oro. Thar's always some greenhorn as thinks he has-"

"Oh?" Drew wondered aloud. The black-and-gold horse was beautiful and plainly of good breeding. That he was also a runner was not out of the question. But that Oro could best Gray Eagle-Ariel stock on the track, Drew doubted. There were unbroken records set on eastern tracks by horses in s.h.i.+loh's direct blood line. And the local talent that had been matched against Oro in the past had probably not been much compet.i.tion. The Kentuckian began to speculate about a match between the gray stallion and the horse foaled on the Arizona range.

"Yep, we'll see some race, does anyone turn up with a hoss t' match Oro."

One of the s.h.i.+rted Indians rose to his feet. With rifle sloped over forearm, he padded into the dark. Fenner's relaxed posture tensed into alert readiness. His head turned, his att.i.tude now one of listening concentration. Drew strained to see or hear what lay beyond. But the noise from the plaza and torchlight made a barrier for eye and ear.

Fenner's rifle barrel dropped an inch or so; he stood easy again. Drew heard a jingle of metal, the creak of saddle leather, the pound of shod hoofs.

"Soldiers!" Fenner sniffed. "Wonder what they's doin', hittin' town now.

Wal, that ain't no hair off m' skull. Me, I'm gonna git Tar his treat.

Promised him some time back he could have a bait o' oats-oats an' salt, an' jus' a smidgen o' corn cake. That thar mule likes t' favor his stomach. Kells, he ought t' have them vittles put together right 'bout now. This mare o' yourn what's so special, young feller.... Me, I'd like t' see a hoss what's got to be took care of like she was a bang-up lady!"

He put two fingers to his lips and whistled. A mule head, attached to a rangy mule body, weaved forward to follow dog-at-heel fas.h.i.+on behind the scout.

A squad of blue coats was riding in-an officer and six men. They threaded their way to the cantina where the officer dismounted and went inside. The troopers continued to sit their saddles and regard the scene about them wistfully.

"Looks like a duty patrol," Fenner remarked. "Maybe Cap'n Bayliss. He's gittin' some biggety idear as how it's up t' him t' police this here town.

Does he start t' crow too loud, _Don_ Cazar or Reese Topham'll cut his spurs. Maybe he sets up th' war s.h.i.+eld an' does th' shoutin' back thar in front o' all them soldier boys. In this town he ain't no gold-lace general!"

"Troops and the town not friendly?" Drew asked.

"Th' soldiers-they ain't no trouble. Some o' 'em have their heads screwed on straight an' know what they's doin' or tryin' t' do. But a lot o' them officers now-they come out here wi' biggety idears 'bout how t' handle Injuns, thinkin' they knows all thar's t' be knowed 'bout fightin'-an'

them never facin' up to a Comanche in war paint, let alone huntin'

'Paches. 'Paches, they know this here country like it was part o' their own bodies-can say 'Howdy-an'-how's-all-th'-folks, bub?' t' every lizard an' snake in th' rocks. Ain't no army gonna pull 'em out an' make 'em fight white-man style.

"_Don_ Cazar-he goes huntin' 'em when they've come botherin' him an' does it right. But he knows you think Injun, you live Injun, you eat Injun, you smell Injun when you do. They don't leave no more trail than an ant steppin' high, 'less they want you should foller them into a nice ambush as they has all figgered out. Put Greyfeather an' his Pimas on 'em an'

then leg it till your belly's near meetin' your backbone an' you is all one big tired ache. Iffen you kin drink sand an' keep on footin' it over red-hot rocks when you is nigh t' a bag o' bones, then maybe-jus'

maybe-you kin jump an Apache. Comanches, now, an' Cheyenne an' Kiowa an'

Sioux ride out to storm at you-guns an' arrows all shootin'-wantin' to count coup on a man by hittin' him personal. But th' 'Pache ain't wastin'

hisself that way. Nope-git behind a rock an' ambush ... put th' whole h.e.l.l-fired country t' work fur them. That's how th' 'Pache does his fightin'. An' th' spit-an'-polish officers what come from eastward-they's got t' larn that. Only sometimes they ain't good at larnin', an' then they gits larned-good an' proper. Hey, Kells!"

They were at the stable and Fenner lifted a hand, palm out, in greeting to the liveryman. "Here's Ole Tar wantin' his special grub-"

Drew went on to s.h.i.+loh's stall. Reese Topham, the Spaniard _Don_ Lorenzo who had been in the cantina last night, the stout Mexican Bartolome, and _Don_ Cazar himself were all there before him.

"Here he is now." Reese Topham waved a hand at Drew. "This is Mister Kirby, from Texas."

"You have a fine horse there, Kirby-the mare, too. Eastern stock, I would judge, perhaps Kentucky breeding?" Rennie asked.

Drew was taut inside. To say the wrong thing, to admit the line of that breeding, might be a bad slip. Yet he could only evade, not lie directly.

"Yes, Kentucky." He answered the first words his father had ever addressed to him.

"And the line?"

To be too evasive would invite suspicion. However, the Gray Eagle get was in more than one Kentucky stable.

"Eclipse...." Drew set back the pedigree several equine generations.

s.h.i.+loh tossed his head, looked over his shoulder at Drew, who entered the stall and began quieting the stallion with hands drawn gently over the back and up the arch of the neck.

"The mare also?" _Don_ Cazar continued.

"Yes." The Kentuckian's answer sounded curt in his own ears, but he could not help it.

"This Eclipse, _amigo_," _Don_ Lorenzo turned to Rennie for enlightenment-"he was a notable horse?"

"_Si_, of the Messenger line. But a gray of that breeding-" _Don_ Cazar's forefinger ran nail point along his lower lip. "Ariel blood, perhaps?"

Drew busied himself adjusting s.h.i.+loh's hackamore. This was getting close.

Hunt Rennie had lived in Kentucky over a year once. He had visited Red Springs many times before he had dared to court Alexander Mattock's daughter and been forbidden the place. His visits to the stable must have familiarized him with the Gray Eagle-Ariel strain bred there. On the other hand, horses of the same combination were the pride of several other families living around Lexington.

"A racing line of high blood," _Don_ Lorenzo said thoughtfully. "_Si_, this one has the pride, the appearance. You have raced him, _senor_?" he asked Drew with formal courtesy.

"Not on any real track, _senor_. During the war there were no races."

"He wasn't a cavalry mount?" _Don_ Cazar looked surprised.

"No, suh. Too young for that. He was foaled on April sixth in sixty-two.

That's why they called him s.h.i.+loh."

There was a moment of silence, broken by a hail from the door.

"You there-Rennie!"

Drew saw the involuntary spasm of _Don_ Cazar's lips, the shadow of an expression which might mean he antic.i.p.ated a distasteful scene to come.

But the quirk disappeared as he turned to face the man in the blue uniform.

"Captain Bayliss." It was acknowledgment rather than a greeting, delivered in a cool tone.

"I want to see you, Rennie!" The officer stamped forward a step or so, to stand in the full light of the first lantern. He was of medium height, and his blue blouse had been cut by a good tailor, though now it was worn. He was a good-looking man, though jowly about the mouth, above which a closely cropped mustache bristled. His color was high under a pink skin which in this hot country must burn painfully. And there was the permanent stamp of uncertain temper in the lines about his prominent eyes.

4

"So, you see me, Bayliss," _Don_ Cazar returned evenly. "There is some trouble?"

Bartolome s.h.i.+fted from one foot to the other, his spurs ringing. _Don_ Lorenzo's expression was one of withdrawal, but on the round countenance of the Mexican was open dislike.

The sun-reddened skin flushed darker. "All right, Rennie!" the captain exploded. "If you want it straight, that's the way you're going to get it!

You've been hiring Rebs again!"