The Andre Norton Megapack - 15 Classic Novels and Short Stories

Drew’s left, took off his hat and waved a wide-armed signal to answer Greyfeather’s mirror. Two of the Pimas were scouting ahead on this two-day drive, and the Anglo riders were keepingthe herd to a trot. Apaches, Kitchell, even bandidos from over the border, could be sniffing about the Range, eyeing its riches, ready to pick up anything left unprotected. The men rode with their rifles free of the boot, fastened by a loop of rawhide to the saddle horn, the old Texas precaution which allowed for instant action. And at each halt the six-shooter Colts’ loading was checked.
    Nye swerved, sending a lagger on with a sharp crack of quirt in the air. He pulled up to match Drew’s sobered trot.
    “That’s the last bad stretch; now it’ll be downhill an’ green fields all th’ way.” Nye nodded at the narrow opening between two hills lying ahead. “Glad to get this band in on all four legs an’ runnin’ easy.”
    “You expected trouble?”
    “Kid, in this here country you don’t expect nothin’ else but. Last time we brought hosses up th’ trail they jumped us four, five miles back—right close to where we saw that pile of bones this mornin’. ’Fore he knew what hit us Jim Berry was face down an’ never got up again. An’ th’ Old Man took him a crease ’crost th’ ribs that made him bleed like a stuck pig. Got him patched up an’ into town; then he keeled over when he tried to git down off his hoss an’ was in bed a week.”
    “Apaches?”
    “Naw, we figured it was Kitchell. Couldn’t prove it though, an’ after that th’ Old Man made a rule we take Pimas every drive. Ain’t nothin’ able to surprise them. I never had no use for Injuns, but these here are peaceful cusses—iffen they don’t smell an Apache. With them ridin’ point we’re sure slidin’ th’ groove. Me, I’ll be glad to hit town. I’d shore like to keep th’barkeep busier than a beaver buildin’ hisself a new dam. Though with th’ Old Man off reppin’ for th’ law down along the border and needin’ hands back on the Range, we swallows down th’ dust nice an’ easy an’ takes it slow. Anyway, this far from payday I kin count up mosta m’ roll without takin’ it outta m’ pocket.”
    “This Kitchell…think it’s true that some of the ranchers are really helpin’ him?”
    “Don’t know. Might be he’s tryin’ to play th’ deuce against th’ whole deck. Lessen he lives on th’ kind of whisky as would make a rabbit up an’ spit in a grizzly’s eye hole, he’s got somethin’—or someone—to back him. Me…were th’ Old Man poundin’ th’ hills flat lookin’ for me, I’d crawl th’ nearest bronc an’ make myself as scarce as a snake’s two ears.” Nye shrugged. “Kitchell’s got some powerful reason for squattin’ out in th’ brush playin’ cat-eyed with most of th’ territory. Maybe so there’re some as will sit in on his side, but they’ve sure got their jaws in a sling an’ ain’t bawlin’ about it none. ’Course lotsa people were red-hot Rebs back in ’61 till they saw as how white men fightin’ each other jus’ naturally gave th’ Apaches an’ some of th’ border riffraff idears ’bout takin’ over. But mosta us now ain’t wavin’ no flag. Iffen Kitchell has got him some diehards backin’ him—” Nye shrugged again. “Git ’long there, you knock-kneed, goat-headed wagon-loafer!” He pushed on to haze another slacker.
    They were dusty and dry when they dropped the corral gate in place and watched the horses mill around. Drew headed for Kells’ stable. Shadow nickered a greeting and turned around as if to purposefully edge her daughter forward for his inspection.
    “Pretty, ma’am,” he told her. “Very pretty. She’s goin’ to be as fine a lady as her ma—I’m willin’ to swear to that.”
    The filly lipped Drew’s fingers experimentally and then snorted and did a frisky little dance with her tiny hoofs rustling in the straw. Kells had been as good as his promise, Drew noted. Mother and child had had expert attention, and Shadow’s coat had been groomed to a glossy silk; her black mane and tail were rippling satin ribbons.
    “Gonna take ’em back to th’ Range with you, Mister Kirby?” Callie came down from the loft.
    “Yes. I’ll need a cart and driver though. We’ll have to give the foal a lift. Know anyone for hire, Callie?”
    “I’ll ask around. Have any trouble comin’ up?”
    “No. Greyfeather and Runnin’ Fox were