The Andre Norton Megapack - 15 Classic Novels and Short Stories

faces—”
    The smaller man’s hand fell away from his concealed weapon, but Kirby did not reholster the Colt which had appeared through some feat of lightning movement in his grip.
    “You’re not going to take my horses!” Even if there was no gun in Dandy’s hand, his voice stated a fact they could not doubt he meant.
    “Nobody’s takin’ hosses,” the Texan answered. “This heah soldier’s got him a mighty sore head, an’ he needs some fixin’. We ain’t too popular round heah right now, an’ he can’t ride. So—”
    Boyd pushed up. “Mr. Dandy, you know me—Boyd Barrett. And this is Drew Rennie. We have Yankees after us. And you never said you were Union—”
    Dandy shrugged. “No matter to me what you wear…blue…gray—you’re all a bunch of horse thieves, like as not. You, Mr. Boyd, what you doing riding with these here Rebs? And what’s the matter with that man? Got him a lick on the head, eh? Well—” he crossed with his lurching walk to stand by Drew, studying the now unconscious Croxton—“all right.” His voice was angry, as if he were being pushed along a path he disliked. “Get him into the stable. I ain’t yet took sides in this here bloody war, and I ain’t going to now. But the man’s hurt. Unload him and don’t tell me what he’s been doing back there to get him that knock. I don’t want to know.”
    He led the way into the stable, and moments later Croxton was as easy as they could make him on an improvised bed of straw and clean horse blankets. Dandy turned to them with Croxton’s gun belt swinging free in his hand, still weighted down with two revolvers.
    “You want these?”
    Drew glanced at his two companions. His own carbine was gone; he had dropped it at the verge of the millpond when he had taken charge of Croxton. Boyd was without any weapons, and Kirby had only side arms. Drew started to reach for the belt and then shook his head. If Sam was able to ride soon, he would need those. And the rest of them could take their chances at getting more arms. Boyd opened his mouth as if to protest, but he did not say anything as Drew refused the Colts.
    “You keep ’em—for him.”
    The ex-jockey nodded. “Better be riding on, Mr. Rennie. They’ll come looking, and I don’t fancy having any fight here. With luck we’ll get your friend on his feet all right and tight, and he can slip south when the dust is down a bit. But you’d better keep ahead of what can come down the pike now.”
    Kirby moved, the spurs jangling musically on his boots. “I’ve been thinkin’ ’bout that theah road,” he announced. “Any other trail outta heah we can take?”
    “Cross the pasture—” Dandy directed with a thumb—“then a cornfield, and you’ll hit the pike again. Cuts off about a mile.”
    “That sounds right invitin’.” The Texan led the way back to the yard and their waiting mounts. “Obliged to you, suh. Now,” he spoke to Drew, “I’d say it’s time to raise some dust. Ain’t far to sundown, an’ we oughta git some countryside between us an’ them rip-snortin’ javalinas—”
    “Javalinas?” Drew heard Boyd repeat inquiringly.
    “Kid—” the Texan reined his bay—“there is some mean things in this heah world. Theah is Comanches an’ Apaches, an’ a longhorn cow with a calf hid out in a thicket, an’ a rattler, what’s feelin’ lowdown in his mind. An’ theah’s javalinas, the wild boars of the Rio country. Then theah’s men what have had to ride fast on a day as hot as this, swallerin’ dust an’ thinkin’ what they’re gonna do when they catch up to them as they’re chasin’; an’ those men’re ’bout as mean as the boars—”
    Drew lifted his hand to Jim Dandy and followed the other two through the pasture gate. Now he grinned.
    “You sound like one speakin’ from experience—of bein’ chased, that is.”
    Kirby chuckled. “I’m jus’ a poor little Texas boy, suh. ’Course we do a bit of fast ridin’. Mostly though I’ve been on the other end, doin’ the chasin’. An’ I know how it feels to eat dust an’ git a mite riled doin’ it. I’d say we could maybe help ourselves a bit though.”
    “How?” Boyd asked eagerly.
    “You”—Drew rounded on him—“can cut cross-country and get home!” There was nothing in Boyd’s clothing or equipment to suggest that he had been a part of the now scattered raiders. “If the Yankees stop you,” Drew continued, “you can spin them a tale about riding