The Andre Norton Megapack - 15 Classic Novels and Short Stories

understand. But he knew well that he was under an attack delivered with a purpose, and with all the dirty tricks of a no-rules, back-alley fighter.
    CHAPTER 8
    Only once before, when some rivertoughs had ganged up on the scouts, had Drew had to use fists to beat his way out of an argument. But that had been a round dance at Court House Day compared to this. Within moments the Kentuckian knew that he was no match for the trooper, that he would be lucky if he could get out of this unmaimed. The fellow knew every dirty trick and was eager to use them all. Drew tried only to keep on his feet and out of the other’s grip. Once down, he knew he would have no chance at all.
    Then he was jerked back, off balance, staggering on to bring up against the wall. He caught at the solid backing and somehow remained upright, seeing hazily through one eye. The other was puffing closed, and his lip was torn, a trickle of blood rising there to drip down his chin. He put both hands to his middle where more than one of the pile-driver knocks had landed, and tried to understand what was happening.
    Sergeant Muller…that was Muller standing over the man on the floor. And Nye…Reese Topham…suddenly the cantina was very well populated. Drew turned his head cautiously to see on his blind side. Anse was down! The Kentuckian stood away from the wall, lurched out to fall to his knees. He rolled the Texan over on his back. Anse’s eyes fluttered open, and he looked up dazedly. There was an angry red mark on his chin just an inch or so away from the point of his jaw.
    “Now, just what devil’s business is goin’ on here?” The sergeant’s voice was a roar to hurt the ears. Somehow Drew got an arm under Anse’s shoulders and tried to hoist him up. The Kentuckian swallowed blood from his lip and glared at Muller.
    “Suppose you ask those high-binders of yours!” he snapped. And once more it was Sergeant Rennie who spoke.
    Other hands joined his to boost Anse. With Topham’s aid Drew regained his feet and got the staggering Texan, still half unconscious, onto a chair.
    “I’m interested, too.” The cantina owner’s drawl was as slow as ever, but it held a note of a whiplash.
    “Them soldiers.…” Fowler appeared, the bar-side shotgun across his arm—“they jumped th’ boys. I saw it, myself.”
    “Yeah, told yuh these town buzzards’re all th’ same. Stick together an’ have it in for th’ army!”
    Drew could not see which of the troopers had burst out with that, but in his present mood all bluecoats were the enemy.
    “Dirty Yanks!” Anse’s eyes were fully focused now—right on the sergeant. Anse struggled to get up, but Topham’s hands on his shoulders held him down. His hand went to his holster, and Drew’s fist came down on the Texan’s wrist, hard.
    “See that thar, Sarge! Th’ stinkin’ polecat of a Reb was gonna draw on you! Told you, they’s all alike. Th’ war ain’t over; we jus’ gotta keep on lickin’ ’em. Giveus room, an’ we’ll do it again—now!”
    Anse’s face was green-white under the weathering, save for the wound on his jaw. He was watching Muller as if the sergeant, rather than his men, was the focal point of any future attack.
    “You—Stevens—shut your trap!” Muller’s roar brought silence. Drew could actually hear the panting breaths of the men now.
    “Mitchell, what happened here?” Muller turned to the man at his far right.
    The trooper was younger than the rest, his face still holding something of a boyish roundness. His eyes shifted under the sergeant’s steady, boring stare, and he glanced at the rest of his companions, the two disheveled fighters, the lanky man picking up a forage cap and handing it to one of them.
    “I dunno, Sergeant. Th’ boys…they was jus’ funnin’. They didn’t meant nothin’, jus’ funnin’. Then these here Rebs, they come right after Helms, was gonna jump him from behind. An’ Danny waded in jus’ to keep that one”—the boy pointed straight at Drew—“offa Helms. That’s what happened. Th’ boys didn’t mean no harm—jus’ havin’ a little fun—when these Rebs jumped ’em!”
    Drew pulled up his neckerchief and dabbed at his cut lip. Anse had subsided, though he was still watching the sergeant with an unrelenting gaze. The Kentuckian tried to remember where Fowler had been during the fracas. He had spoken up for them already, but would Muller accept his testimony over that of his own men? There was already ill