The Andre Norton Megapack - 15 Classic Novels and Short Stories

Blood,” he assented.
    “It is past all hope then to offer for him?” Oliveri was smiling, but his eyes held a greedy glint Drew had seen before. Shiloh was apt to produce that reaction in any horseman.
    “He is not mine to sell, Coronel . He belongs to Señor Kirby who stands there with him.”
    “So?” Oliveri’s open astonishment irritated Drew. Maybe he did have on rough work clothes and look the part of a range drifter. But then when the Coronel had arrived here last night, he had not been too neat either.
    “A fine horse, señor .” Oliveri came on in, now including Drew in his gaze.
    “I think so, Coronel ,” Drew returned shortly. He gave a last brush to flank and smoothed the saddle blanket.
    “From a distance you have brought him, señor ?” Oliveri walked about the stud as Drew went to fetch his saddle.
    “From Kentucky.” Was he unduly suspicious or was there a challenge in the Mexican officer’s voice—a faint suggestion that the antecedents of both horse and owner were in question?
    “Kentucky…” Oliveri stumbled in his repetition of the word. “I have heard of Kentucky horses.”
    “Most people have.” Drew tightened the cinch. Then his pride in Shiloh banished some of his stiffness. “He is of the line of Eclipse.” Maybe that would not mean much to a Mexican, though. The breeding of eastern American horses probably did not register south of the border.
    “ Señor —such a one—he is not for sale?”
    “No.” Drew knew that sounded curt, but Oliveri ruffled him. He added, “One does not sell a friend.”
    Oliveri gave what sounded to Drew like an exaggerated sigh. “ Señor , you have spoiled my day. How can one look at lesser animals when one has seen such a treasure? Don Cazar, the Range harbors so many treasures—Oro, and now this one. How is he named, señor ?”
    “Shiloh.”
    “Shiloh…” The Coronel made a sibilant hiss of the word. “An Indio name?”
    “No, a battle.” Drew prepared to lead out. “In the war.”
    “So. And this one is a fighter, too. I think. Señor , should you ever wish to sell, por favor , remember one Luis Oliveri! For such a horse as this— sí , a man might give a fortune! Ah, to ride into camp before that puffed-up gamecock of a Merinda on such a horse!” Oliveri closed his eyes as if better to imagine the triumph.
    “Shiloh’s not for sale, Coronel ,”Drew replied.
    Oliveri shrugged. “Perhaps now, no. But time changes and chance changes, señor . So remember Luis Oliveri will give a fortune—and this is the truth, señor !”
    “Hunt!” Drew was forced to halt as Johnny Shannon stood straight ahead of him in the stable entrance. “Teodoro Trinfan’s come in with some news you oughta hear.”
    “So? Well. I’m coming. Coronel , Johnny can show you the stock we have ready. I will be back as soon as I can.”
    “Still I say”—Oliveri shook his head as Rennie pushed past Drew and Shiloh and went out—“that after seeing this one, all others will be as pale shadows of nothingness. But since I must have horses, Señor Shannon, I will look at horses. Buenos dias, señor. ” He raised a hand to Drew and the Kentuckian nodded.
    But Shannon still stood in the doorway, and short of walking straight into him there was no way for Drew to leave. Johnny was smiling a little—just as he had back in Tubacca in Topham’s office before the race.
    “Seems like you’ve got you a four-legged gold mine there, Kirby,” he said. “Better keep your eyes peeled—gold claims have been jumped before in this country. Kitchell’d give a lot to git a hoss like that to run south.”
    “He’d have to,” Drew said grimly. “In lead—if he wanted it that way.”
    “Kinda sure of that, ain’t you?” The smile had not cracked, nor had it reached those shuttered blue eyes. Why did everyone say Johnny Shannon was a boy? Inside he was older than most of the men Drew had known—as old and cold as the desert rocks in nighttime. Again the Kentuckian was teased by a scrap of memory. Once before he had seen old eyes in a boy’s face, when it had meant deadly danger for him.
    “When a man has somethin’ as belongs to him, he doesn’t step aside easy if another makes a play to grab it,” he said.
    For the first time then he did see a flicker in Shannon’s eyes. And his hand tightened so on the reins that some fraction of his reaction must have reached Shiloh. The horse neighed, pawed with a forefoot.
    “Just what I’ve always