The Andre Norton Megapack - 15 Classic Novels and Short Stories

an’ gittin’ ready to loose lead.”
    “No, I’m not goin’ to drag you in.”
    “Yeah—an’ I mean yeah! We joined trails a long time back, by that there mill pond in Kentucky, and we ain’t splittin’ now. If a storm’s walkin’ up on us slow—or comin’ fast with its tail up—it’s goin’ to be both of us gittin’ under or out together.”
    Drew put on the belt again. His impatience bit at him, but what Anse said made sense. They had been sent here to do a job and in the morning they would do it. Then they could ride back to the Stronghold. Howhe was going to handle Shannon he had no idea, but that he would have to he was sure.
    The first light was a gray rim around the world as they lay flat, training the glasses Hilario had loaned them on two horses grazing not too far below.
    “Well, that’s it. U.S. As big an’ plain as th’ paint on a Comanche face an’ almost as ugly. Them’s army mounts an’ I don’t see no troopers hereabouts,” Anse said.
    Running Fox materialized in his ghostly fashion, and they retraced at a better speed and less effort the path which had brought them to the canyon perch. Just as they were about to top the ridge behind the mustanger camp, the Pima held up a warning hand.
    “Long knives.…”
    “Troopers?” They went to their knees and made a stealthy crawl to the crest of the ridge.
    There were troopers down there, all right. The Trinfans sat on their saddles while an officer walked up and down before them. Running Fox put a finger on Drew’s arm and motioned to the left. The horses of the mustangers were browsing in a small dell, their night hobbles unloosed. Together the trio moved in that direction.
    The Pima slipped ahead with a speed and efficiency of motion his companions envied. He had the two nearest horses in hand, leading them toward the bushes.
    “Looks like we ride bareback.” Anse caught at a hackamore, then mounted.
    “Move!” Drew waved Running Fox to the other horse. “We can’t wait to get another horse. You ride for the Stronghold, make it straight to Rennie and report. I’m stayin’ here. I can say we were fired and Trinfan took me on as a hand.”
    Anse was the better rider under these circumstances, and the better scout. To wait to pick up a third horse was folly.
    “What about Shannon?”
    “Shannon’ll have to wait!” Drew slapped the Texan’s horse. It reared and then pounded off. Drew turned to walk back to the camp. He rounded the end of the ridge and stopped short. The round and deadly mouth of an Army Colt was pointed straight at his middle, covering the disastrously empty pocket of his money belt.
    CHAPTER 13
    A lantern provided a very small and smoky light on a table of three boards mounted on boxes. If the furniture was makeshift, the walls of the room were not. Logs and adobe were just as effective for the purpose of confinement as stone blocks. Drew sat up on a bunk shell of boardholding straw, and rested his head between his hands. He could follow the action which had brought him here, trace it back almost minute by minute over the past three days. How he had come here was plain enough; why was another matter.
    Lieutenant Spath, back in the mustangers’ camp, might have accepted the Kentuckian’s story. Or he might at least have been uncertain enough not to arrest him, if only Trooper Stevens had not been one of the patrol. Once before Stevens had been most vocal about Rebs who were too free with their fists. Spath’s trooper guard, reporting the escape of Running Fox and Anse, had condemned his captive fully as far as the lieutenant was concerned. The troopers had then searched their prisoner and to them a loaded money belt worn by a drifter did not make good sense, either—unless too much sense on the wrong side of the ledger. Drearily Drew had to admit that had he stood in the lieutenant’s boots, he would have made exactly the same decision and brought his prisoner back to the camp.
    So here he was now—just where Bayliss had promised to see him—in an army detention cell, with no proof of identity and the circumstantial evidence against him piling up by the minute.All they needed was some definite proof to tie him to Kitchell and he was lost. He had to pin his hopes on Anse—and Don Cazar.
    Drew ground his boot heel into the dirt floor. That was just what he had sworn he would never do—call upon Hunt Rennie for help. Especially now, since the troopers had discovered those army-branded horses