The Andre Norton Megapack - 15 Classic Novels and Short Stories

he would not get up again.
    “Rennie’s riders?”
    Teodoro was on one knee, conning the mass of tracks as if they were a printed page. “ Sí —there is the mark of Bartolomé Rivas’ horse. It has a misshapen hoof; the shoe must always be well fitted.”
    “How far are they ahead now?” Drew had come to depend upon the young mustanger’s judgment. Teodoro apparently was close to a Pima in his ability to read trace.
    “Two hours—maybe three. But they will be at the pass and there they will stay.”
    “Why?”
    “I think they will lay a trap for the raiders. There has been no sign that they trail now behind driven horses. Don Cazar does not pursue; he rides to cut off the road to Mexico. Kitchell’s men, they would not take the open Sonora trail, that is folly for them. So they travel one ridden by men with a price on their heads.If Kitchell now moves south to stay, he will have with him all that he can carry, and he must come this way.”
    “If he hasn’t gone already!”
    “There is no sign,” Teodoro repeated stubbornly.
    “So we keep on ahead.” Drew got down on both knees, splashed the muddy water-hole liquid into his face in an effort to clear his head.
    They had changed mounts twice since leaving the camp, both times at the water forts on the Range. And the second time they had chanced three hours’ sleep and a hot meal. But the rest of the time it was ride, chew on jerky and cold tortillas, and depend on Teodoro’s sense of direction to take them eventually to their goal—the outlaws’ gate into Mexico. Drew had long since stopped looking over his shoulder for any thundering advance of cavalry. If Bayliss was hunting the fugitives, he was not pushing the pace too hard.
    “Not ahead, no.” Teodoro drank from his cupped hand. “We go so.…” He sketched a gesture east.
    “Why?”
    “It is never well to be shot by one’s friends.” The mustanger achieved a half smile, stretching the skin of his gaunt young face. “Always it is better to see before being seen.”
    When they started he led the way to the left at a walk. Drew, aroused now, looked about him carefully. This was rough country cut by pinnacles of red and yellow rock, backed by the purple ridges of the greater heights. It was desert land, too. They had long since left the abundance of the valley behind them. Here was the stiff angularity of cactus, the twisted vegetation of an arid land.
    The crack of a carbine shattered the empty silence. Drew pulled on reins as a second shot dug up a spurt of dust just beyond Teodoro’s mount.
    “Hold it! Right there.”
    That disembodied voice could have come from anywhere, but Drew thought it was from above and behind. Someone, holed up in the rocks, had them as perfect targets. The Kentuckian did not try to turn his head; there was no use giving the sharpshooter an excuse.
    “All right, you.…” The voice was hollow, its timbre distorted by echo. “Throw off your guns an’ git down…one at a time…th’ Mex first.”
    Drew watched Teodoro slide out of the saddle.
    “Stand away from that hoss…easy now.”
    The mustanger obeyed.
    “Now you…do jus’ like him.”
    Drew followed instructions carefully.
    “Hands up—high! Now turn around.”
    They turned. A figure had detached itself from among the rocks they had passed moments earlier and came down toward them carbine ready.
    “Anse!” Drew stumbled toward the Texan. The other’s hat was gone. A torn shirt sleeve flapped about his left arm, allowing sight of a neckerchief knotted about his forearm. His coat trailed from one shoulder. “What in the world happened to you?”
    Anse sat down suddenly on one of the boulders, his gaze on Drew. He shook his head slowly.
    “I ain’t sein’ things,” he said. “That’s you, ain’t it? Say—got any water?” His tongue curled over cracked lips.
    Drew snatched the canteen from his saddle and hurried forward. More than a bloodstained bandage marked Anse, he could see now. He waited while the other seized the canteen avidly and drank. Then the Texan was smiling at him.
    “Seems as how we’s always meetin’ up, don’t it now? Likewise it’s always to m’ benefit, too. Only this time I’ve got me somethin’ to trade. You keep on goin’ down this trail, compadre , an’ maybe you’ll wind up with a spade pattin’ you down nice an’ smooth.”
    “What happened?”
    Anse drank again with the discipline of a plains rider, a mouthful at a time.
    “What didn’t