The Andre Norton Megapack - 15 Classic Novels and Short Stories

comings and goings. So—you’re going to ride out within the hour and be well along before you camp tonight. We can’t waste time.”
    The nights were chill and the cold made them huddle turtle fashion into the upturned collars of their short riding coats and jam their hats down as far as possible on their heads. Winter breathed across the land now with the coming of dark.
    They traveled at an angle, the pace set by Teodoro who led a pack mule. Somewhere out there in the dark the Pima Scout was prowling. But he had had his orders: no contact with the three travelers unless there was fear of attack. And both Anse and Drew were alert, knowing that the farther one went from the Stronghold the less one relaxed guard.
    “Kinda nippy, ain’t it?” Anse said. In the very dim light Drew could just make out that the Texan was holding his gloved hand to his mouth, puffing at the crooked fingers. “Ain’t as bad as ridin’ out a norther, though. I ’mind me how jus’ ’fore th’ war—I was ridin’ for wages for Old Man Shaw then—we had a norther hit. I’m tellin’ you, it was so cold th’ ramrod came out to give th’ mornin’ orders an’ his words, they jus’ naturally froze up solid. Us boys, we hadda go git th’ wood ax an’ chop ’em apart ’fore we knew what we was all to do. Now that’s what I call bein’ cold!”
    Drew laughed. “Don’t think it ever gets quite that cold hereabouts.”
    It was good being away from the Stronghold, out here with Anse. It was as if he had been let out of lessons, or freed from a sense of duty and responsibility which was a growing burden.
    “Nope. Texas sure is a lotta country, a whole bag with odds an’ ends stuffed in any which way. ’Course this is new range to me. But what I’ve seen of it, were you jus’ able to run off th’ bandidos an’ git th’ Apaches offen it for good—why, it might be a right respectable sorta territory. A man could carve hisself out a spread as he could brag on.”
    “You’d like it?”
    Anse blew on his fingers again. “Maybe—all things bein’ considered, as they say. I’ve heard tell as how all a man needs to start his own brand is a loose rope, a runnin’ iron, an’ th’ guts to use them. It’s been done, an’ is bein’ done all th’ time. Only I don’t think as how th’ Old Man would take to havin’ any such big-ideared neighbor here. Not much cattle, though, to interest a wide loop man. Now hosses—everyone says as how they’s plenty of wild stuff. You got you Shiloh, Drew, an’ you said you made a foal deal with th’ Old Man. Git some more good-lookin’ an’ actin’ wild ones an’ you’re in business—runnin’ your Spur R brand. Three-four years, an’ th’ luck a man has always got to hope for, an’ you’ve more’n jus’ a stake—you’ve got roots an’ a spread!”
    “ We have,” Drew corrected. “Why’d you suppose I wanted that foal deal? There’s free land to be had in the valley. Some of the ranchers cleared out when the Apaches started raidin’ and they’re not comin’ back. We might look over what Trinfan has picked up as long as we are out here. I know the Old Man hasn’t contracted for anything but gettin’ rid of that Pinto stud. We could make an offer for any good slicks—put the Spur R on them and run them in on the Range. Rennie has already said that’s all right with him.”
    “Whoee!” Anse muffled one of the old spirited war yells into a husky whisper. “You an’ me, we’re goin’ to do it! Ain’t nobody can put hobbles on a pair of Tejanos as has their chewin’ teeth fast on th’ bit!”
    It was something to think about, all right. But future chances should not take a man’s mind off the job immediately ahead. Only tonight, out here, Drew had a feeling of being able to do anything—from touching the sky with his uplifted hand to fighting Kitchell man to man. That, however, was just what Hunt Rennie did not want and what Drew had promised not to do.
    Horses to be found back in the rough country, hidden away in the maze of pocket canyons where there was water and enough browning grass to keep them from straying. There must be hundreds of places ready to be used that way. But how come Kitchell could hide out in Apache country? Nothing Drew knew of that tribe fitted in with the idea of a white outlaw band sharing their hunting ground unmolested. It had never mattered to an Apache whether a man rode on the north or south side of the law—if his