The Andre Norton Megapack - 15 Classic Novels and Short Stories

time, Hunt?” Topham spoke from where he was leaning against the wall of Shadow’s box stall. “Johnny was throwing his weight around again last night. Had a set-to in the Jacks with a trooper. Unless the kid quits trying to fight the war over again every time he sees an army blouse—or until he stops pouring whisky down him every time he hits town—there may be shooting trouble. There’re some equal hot-heads inBayliss’ camp, and if Johnny goes up against one of them, a scuffle could become a battle.”
    “Yeah, an’ that warn’t all Johnny was doin’ last night.” Kells shifted his tobacco cud from one cheek to the other. “Iffen Kirby here hadn’t been to hand, Johnny would have skinned th’ Trinfan kid with his quirt—jus’ ’cause he dropped his purse outside th’ Jacks an’ th’ kid followed him to give it back. Johnny’s meaner than a drunk Injun these days. That’s Bible-swear truth, Rennie.”
    “To lose a war makes a man bitter,” Don Cazar said slowly. “Johnny was far too young when he ran away to join Howard. And after that defeat at Glorieta, the retreat to Texas was pure hell with the fires roaring. It seems to have done something to the boy—inside.”
    “Johnny wasn’t the only boy at Glorieta. From what I’ve heard most of them weren’t old enough to grow a good whisker crop.” Topham’s voice had lost its detached note. “And he sure wasn’t the only Confederate to surrender. Hunt, he’s got to learn that losing a war doesn’t mean that a man has lost the rest of his life. But the way he’s been acting these past months, Johnny might just lose it. Bayliss’ tongue is hanging out a yard or more he’s panting so hard to get back at you. That captain has heady ambitions under his hat, maybe like setting up here as a tinpot governor or something like. If he can discredit you, well, he probably thinks he’s got a chance to rake in the full pot, and it’s a big one. Get Johnny back on the Range, Hunt—put him to work, hard. Sweat that sour temper and whisky out of him. He used to be a promising youngster; now he’s turning bronco fast. All he seems to have learned in the war is how to use those guns of his to lord it over anyone he believes he can push around. And someday he’ll try to push thewrong man—”
    Don Cazar was staring ahead of him now at Drew and Shiloh. But Drew knew that Hunt Rennie was not seeing either man or horse, but a mental picture which was not too pleasing.
    “He’s just a boy.” Rennie did not utter that as an excuse; rather he said it as if to reassure himself. Then his eyes really focused on Drew, and he changed the subject abruptly.
    “Kirby, when the train comes in we sometimes set up a race or two. Any thought of trying your colt against some of the local champions?”
    “Oro perhaps?” Drew counter-questioned.
    Rennie laughed. “Oh, so you’ve been talking, Fenner?”
    The scout came away from where Tar was still very audibly munching his treat. “Didn’t know as how th’ younker had him a runnin’ hoss, Don Cazar.” He inspected Shiloh critically. “But that thar sure looks a lotta hoss. ’Course maybe he ain’t used t’ runnin’ out here whar th’ ground ain’t made all nice an’ easy fur his feet. But I dunno, I dunno at all.”
    “Anyway he’ll give Oro stiffer competition than he’s had in the last two races. Unless that Lieutenant Spath up at the camp tries again with that long-legged black of his,” Topham added. “What about it, Kirby? You willing to match Shiloh?”
    “He’s green, but, yes, I’ll do it.”
    Drew’s motives were mixed. His pride in the colt had been pushing him toward such a trial ever since he had heard Fenner speak of Oro. In addition, as the owner of a noted horse, he would take a place in this community, establish his identity as Drew Kirby. And in some way he could not define, this put him, at least in his own mind, on an equal footing with Don Cazar.
    But by the next morning a few doubts troubled him as he tightened saddle cinches on the stallion. Shiloh’s only races so far had been impromptu matches along the trail. Though the colt had been consistently the victor, none of his rivals had been in his class. And if Oro’s speed was as striking as his coloring, the Range stud would prove a formidable opponent.
    “Walk him up and down here by the corral.” The Kentuckian handed the reins to Callie. “Got something I have to do.”
    Drew went directly to the Four