The Andre Norton Megapack - 15 Classic Novels and Short Stories

Bartolomé said. “There is work at the corrals, but he will decide.”
    “Fair enough,” Anse agreed. When Bartolome had moved out of hearing, he added for Drew’s benefit:
    “I think it’d be ‘no’ if that hombre had th’ sayin’. He plumb don’t like my style.”
    “But Rennie does need men—guards for the wagon trains, riders—”
    Anse shrugged as he off-saddled. “Will he want one as got into a brawl about his third day in town? Anyway, maybe I’ve a day or so to breathe full before he tells me to roll m’ bed again, if he’s goin’ to.”
    During the next three days Drew made a new discovery. Just as he had fallen into an easy, working rhythm with Anse back in the army—so that on occasion their thoughts and actions matched without the need for speech—now they combined operations in the corrals. Drew’s bare and painfully acquired competence with the rope was paired to the Texan’s range training, while Anse’s cruder and faster methods of “toppin’ a wild one” were smoothed by Drew’s more patient gentling process. Both of them were so absorbed by what they were doing that Tubacca and what might be going on there had no more immediate meaning than the words in the books which had ridden to the Stronghold in Drew’s saddlebags.
    In the late afternoon of the third day theKentuckian was walking a long-legged bay on a lead when León climbed to the top pole of the corral.
    “The patrón comes,” he announced.
    Drew faced about. Two riders escorted at hardly more than a fast walk a buckboard in which were two other men. Drew caught a glimpse of a white bandage under the brim of the passenger’s hat and knew that Johnny Shannon was coming home.
    “Anse!” Drew raised a hand, suddenly knowing that his fingers were moving in the old scout signal of trouble ahead.
    The Texan came across the corral. Drew’s bay snorted, took a dance step or two to the right as if it had picked up sudden tension from the men.
    “What’s up?” Anse pushed back his hat, turned up a corner of his neckerchief, and swabbed the lower half of his sweating face.
    “Rennie’s back.”
    Drew watched León hurry to take the buckboard reins, watched Hunt Rennie give a hand to Johnny. Then he saw Shannon jerk away from that aid, walking stiffly toward Casa Grande while Rennie stood for an instant looking after the younger man before following him.
    Croaker tossed his head so high his limber ear bobbed in the murky air. He brayed mournfully. Anse glanced at the mule’s long melancholy face.
    “That’s th’ way you think it’s gonna be, Croaker? Well, maybe so…maybe so.”
    CHAPTER 10
    “This waitin’—” Anse sat cross-legged on the bunk next to Drew’s, his thumb spinning the rowel of one spur. “I neverdid take kindly to waitin’. Is he or ain’t he gonna sign me on?”
    Drew, lying flat, stared up at the muslin-covered ceiling which years of dust had turned to yellow-brown. “You ought to be used to it by now—waitin’, I mean. We had us plenty of it in the army.”
    “Only that was sorta different, not kinda personal like this here. We was sittin’ round on our heels then, waitin’ for some general to make up his mind as to where he was gonna throw some lead fast. This is waitin’ to know if we ’re goin’ to be throwed—out!”
    “I heard California—” Drew began again.
    “You’ve sure taken a shine to Californy lately,” Anse commented. Under his fingers the rowel whirred. “At least you talk about it enough.” He sounded irritated. “Looky here, Drew, if that’s the way you really feel, why don’t you go? I’m sayin’ you don’t feel that way, not by a long sight.”
    What if Drew answered with the exact truth, that he did not know how he felt?
    Nye came in, trailed by three of the other Rennie riders.
    “Johnny’s got him a hoss-size headache an’ maybe so a pair of burnt ears.Th’ Old Man musta lit into him hot an’ heavy, chewed him out good. I’d say they warn’t even talkin’ by th’ time they pulled up here. Seems like th’ kid got an idear to scout north, struck trace near th’ Long Canyon, rode th’ sign on his own an’ was bushwacked. Guess whoever did it thought Johnny was wolf meat, jus’ took his hoss an’ left him there. You gotta give th’ kid credit for havin’ it in him. He kept on goin’ after he came to some—Walked till that patrol picked him up. I’d say he sure had him a run of pure solid luck! There wasn’t much