The Andre Norton Megapack - 15 Classic Novels and Short Stories

leap out of the water to their tangle of clothing, his hand reaching for one of the Colts in the belt he had left carefully on top of the pile. All those stories of Apaches weaseling into touching distance of the guard at the Stronghold.… Why, only last year the younger Rivas boy had had his throat slit out in the hay field within sight of his home!
    The Kentuckian crouched, alert, Anse beside him now, both listening for any suspicious sound. At last they huddled into their clothes, hurried back to the bunkhouse. Bartolomé was there waiting for them.
    “You Tejanos—” There was no pretense of friendliness in his hail. “The patrón will see you, pronto!”
    They went, tugging their clothing into order as they paused outside the door. Drew rapped, took the sound from within as an invitation, and pushed aside the heavy oak planks.
    Outwardly the room was unchanged. No one had moved those old Spanish chests, the skin rugs, the table, since his last visit there. But he had the feeling that it was chill now, cold, as if a hearth fire had been allowed to die into ashes. Perhaps that thought crossed his mind because Hunt Rennie stood by the fireplace moving the toe of his boot back and forth across a smear of gray powder. His back greeted them unwelcomingly, and the silence lengthened uncomfortably until Drew did as he always had and met the unpleasant head-on.
    “You wanted us, suh?” It was like being back in the army. Even his arm twitched as if some muscle was activated by memory to make one of those informal military salutes the scouts favored.
    Hunt Rennie did turn now. His eyes leveled on them. In the light of the candles his cheeks looked even more hollow tonight, and he moved stiffly as might a man who was not only bone-tired in body, thought Drew, but weary in mind as well.
    “You are Anson Kirby?” he addressed the Texan first.
    “Yes, suh.” Anse,too, must be caught up in the same web of memory. That was his old report-to-the-commanding-officer voice.
    “I understand you two thought it necessary to take on some troopers in the Jacks.”
    What was the proper reply to that? Drew wondered. Probably it was best to follow the old army rule of keep the mouth shut, never volunteer, no explanations. If Hunt Rennie had had the story from Topham or Nye, he already knew how the fight began.
    “I won’t have troublemakers on the Range.” Now the voice, too, was tired. The youthfulness which had impressed Drew on their initial meeting had drained from this man tonight. He was taut as if pulled harp-string tight inside. Drew knew that feeling also. But what battle had Rennie emerged from—some struggle with Shannon or Bayliss?
    Then the words made sense, penetrating his concern for the man who had said them. Well, this dismissal only matched his gloomiest expectations.
    “Can’t any of you young fools get it through your thick heads that the war’s over? Saloon brawling with the army ain’t going to change that. It’ll only get you into worse difficulties around here.”
    A spark of protest awoke inside Drew. Rennie was reading this all wrong. He and Anse certainly hadn’t been trying to wipe away the bitter taste of Gainesville by jumping some blue coats in a cantina hundreds of miles and more than a year away from where they had been forced to admit, at last, that bulletless carbines and bare feet could not keep on shooting and marching.
    “Must have been mistaken about you, Kirby.” Now Rennie looked at Drew.
    The Kentuckian met those dark eyes squarely, his first unvoiced protest stiffening into defiance. But he faced the older man steadily. Anse, watching them both, drew a small, fast breath. Good thing for Drew there were no other witnesses now; the likeness between the two Rennies was unmistakable at this moment.
    Hunt Rennie did not follow up his half accusation. He appeared to be expecting some reply. What? A childish promise to be a good boy, not to do it again? Drew’s half-unconscious concern for this man burned away speedily, ignited by what he deemed injustice.
    Anse broke the too long silence. “I don’t know what you heard ’bout that there fight, suh,” he drawled. “Can’t see as how we could have done no different nohow. But that’s no call to saddle it all on Drew. Me, I had a hand—two fists—in it, too. An’ if that’s what’s th’ matter, I can pull out—”
    “No!” Drew’s hand came up in the old gesture to stop the line of march. “We’ll both ride, Mr.