The Andre Norton Megapack - 15 Classic Novels and Short Stories

swung a little so he was looking at the girl. “You’d better hold that in mind, gal. Double R hosses have come up missin’ lately. It’s easy to run a few prime head south to do some moonlight tradin’ at th’ border. An’ we don’t take kindly to losin’ good stock!”
    The boy lunged against Drew’s pinioning arm. “Now he says we are horse thieves! Tell that to us before the Don Cazar!”
    Shannon curled the quirt lash about his wrist. “Don’t think I won’t, Mex! He don’t like havin’ his colt crop whittled down. You—” Those blue eyes, brilliant, yet oddly shallow and curtained, met Drew’s for the second time. “Don’t know who you are, stranger, but you had no call to mix in. I’ll be seein’ you. Kinda free with a gun, leastwise at showin’ it. As quick to back up your play?”
    “Try me!” The words came out of Drew before he thought.
    Why had he said that? He had never been one to pick a fight or take up a challenge. What was there about Shannon that prodded Drew this way? He’d met the gamecock breed before and had never known the need to bristle at their crowing. Now he was disturbed that Shannon could prick him so.
    Odd, the other had been successfully turned from his purpose here. Yet now as he swung around and walked away down the alley Drew was left with a nagging doubt, a feeling that in some way or other Shannon had come off even in this encounter.… But how and why?
    Teodoro spat. His sister tugged at Kells’ sleeve. “It is not true what he said. Why does he wish to make trouble?”
    “Lissen, gal, an’ you, too, Teodoro—jus’ keep clear of Johnny Shannon when he’s on th’ prod that way. I’ve knowed that kid since he didn’t have muscle enough to pull a gun ’less he took both hands to th’ job. But he’s not needin’ any two hands to unholster now. An’ he’s drinkin’ a lot—mean, ugly drunk, he is. Somethin’ must have riled him good tonight—”
    “In the cantina there was a soldier from the camp,” Faquita volunteered. “They call names. He and Señor Juanito fight. Don Reese, he put them both out in the street. Señor Juanito he falls, drops purse. Teodoro picks it up, and we follow. When we try to give it back Señor Juanito yell, ‘spy,’ hit with whip. That is the truth, por Dios , the truth!”
    “Yeah, sounds jus’ like Johnny these days. Him with a snootful an’ somebody yellin’ Reb and Yank. Some men can’t forgit an’ don’t seem to want to. Johnny sure takes it hard bein’ on th’ losin’ side—turned him dirt mean. Now, you kids, you stayin’ in town?”
    “ Sí. ” Faquita nodded vigorously. “With Tía María.”
    “Then you git there an’ stay clear of Johnny Shannon, sabe ? No more trouble.”
    “ Sí, Señor Kells. You, señor ,” she spoke to Drew, “to you we owe a big debt. Come, Teodoro!” She caught at her brother and pulled him away.
    “What makes a kid go sour?” Kells asked of the shadows beyond rather than of Drew. “Johnny warn’t no real trouble ’fore he skinned off to ride with Howard. Sure he was always a wild one, but no more’n a lotta kids. An’ he’d answer th’ lead rein. ’Course we don’t know what happened to him in Texas after th’ big retreat th’ Rebs made outta here. Could be he larned a lot what was no good. Now he sops up whisky when he hits town an’ picks fights, like he didn’t git his belly full of that in th’ war. You can’t never tell how a kid’s gonna turn out.”
    “Hey! Mister Kirby, you better git in here!” Callie hailed from the stable. “Th’ mare…she’s.…”
    Drew jammed the Colt under his belt and ran.
    The scent of hay, of grain, of horse.… Drew’s head rolled on the pillow improvised from hay and blanket as sun lay hot across his face. He rubbed the back of his hand over his eyes and then came fully awake to remember the night before.
    It took only a minute to get down the ladder into Shadow’s stall where a broom tail jiggled up and down above absurdly long baby legs and small rounded haunches. Shadow’s small daughter breakfasted. Callie squatted on his heels near-by watching the process benignly.
    “Ain’t she ’bout th’ best-favored filly you ever saw?” he asked. “How come all your hosses is grays? Shiloh her pa?”
    Drew shook his head. “No, her sire’s Storm Cloud. But all that line are grays.”
    “This Storm Cloud, he’s a runnin’ hoss?”
    “About the runnin’est horse in his part of the