Rebel Spurs
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Andre Norton >> Rebel Spurs
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"Because there were two letters--proof I'm Drew Rennie."
"Rennie?" Topham repeated. In the light Drew could not see his expression,
but his voice was that of a completely baffled man. "Rennie?"
"I'm Hunt Rennie's son." There, he had said it--and nothing startling
happened. Well, what had he expected--a clap of thunder, a bolt of
lightning, the sudden appearance of a cavalry patrol across the nearest
hilltop?
"So that's it!" Topham said slowly. "And Shannon suspected? But why the
mystery? And----"
Drew took the questions in turn. "Shannon was at the Jacks when I met
Anse. I thought he was unconscious, but he probably wasn't. Anse called me
by my right name. As for why--my father doesn't know I'm alive. He was told
I died at birth, along with my mother. They told _me_ he was killed in the
Mexican War before I was born. It was all because of an old family
feud--too long a story to tell now. I've only known for about a year I had
a father here in Arizona ... but to make a claim on him, after all these
years.... Maybe you don't understand why I didn't want to." He was telling
it badly, but he'd been a fool about this from the start.
"Understand ... yes, I think I can. There's a certain strain of
bull-headed independence common to Rennies--I've met it head-on several
times myself. And your choice was your own to make. But this ... yes, it
is just the move Shannon would make, given suspicion to push him into
action. And now it may be pushing him even farther."
Drew was a little bewildered by Topham's ready acceptance of his story
without any proof. But the tone of the last remark caught his full
attention.
"What d' you mean? What's happened now?"
"I've had suspicions, pretty nasty ones, for some time. But I had your
trouble--no proof. In the last three days I've picked up and sorted out a
few very wild cards, and now they make a pat hand. Kitchell has had his
contact here-abouts, all right, just as Bayliss has always insisted."
"You can't mean Shannon!"
"Johnny Shannon. And if he's doing what I think he is...." Topham paused.
When he continued he had changed the subject. "Last night Nye rode up from
the Range. Said that Kitchell made a raid, almost a clean sweep. Among
other stock he gathered up was that prize stud of yours."
"Shiloh!"
And Shannon had the horse papers! The Kentuckian was thinking fast now.
"Yes, if Shannon _is_ riding with Kitchell, now he can prove ownership of
that stud and sell him anywhere without trouble." Topham could have been
reading Drew's mind. "But that's not as important as something else. Hunt
went hell-bent-for-leather out of here. He'll gather up that private army
of his and try to trail the raiders. Maybe Kitchell will ride south, or
maybe he'll head directly back into Apache country. Either way that
trail's going to be as easy for anyone after him as walking barefoot
through a good roaring fire! Hunt still has blind faith in Johnny.... I
was hoping you could help break that."
"That why you got me out of the camp?" Drew asked.
"Partly. Hunt told me what you said about Johnny taking your papers. I had
you sized up as being too smart to make a claim like that unless you
really believed it. And I thought maybe you could prove it, given a
chance. If you can get to Hunt now ... tell him the real truth before
Johnny rigs something of a double-cross...."
"Would he believe me any more than he did when I accused Shannon?" Drew
asked bleakly. "I'll head south, all right. Nobody's goin' to lift Shiloh
and get away with it as long as I'm able to fork a saddle and push. But if
you're countin' on my bein' able to influence my--my father"--he stumbled
over the word awkwardly--"don't!"
"I'm counting on nothing," Topham returned. "Just hoping now. For a long
time we've heard about Johnny Shannon being a young hothead who found it
hard to settle down after the war. I think there are two Johnnys and we
are just beginning to know the real one. You could be his prime target
now."
"Fair of you to point that out." Drew thought that at last he had found a
real motive for Topham's services. "I'm likely to be bait, ain't that the
truth of it?"
"If you are, the trap is going to be there. But now ... get away from
here. Teodoro will ride with you as guide."
"And the army after me. That's it!" Drew had mounted. "That's what you
want, isn't it? Me to pull the troops south? Huntin' down an escaped horse
thief they might slam into Kitchell...."
What a trick! Topham had planned it without asking Drew's support. But it
called for enough audacity, luck, and nerve to be appealing. During the
war the Kentuckian had seen such schemes win out time and time again.
"Why ain't Bayliss already ridin'?" he asked. "Hasn't he heard about the
raid?"
"He's been heard to say a man can raid his own stock as a cover-up."
"What's wrong with him? Is he deaf, dumb, and blind!"
"No, just prejudiced and ridden by envy until he's not able to think
straight any more. But he'll track you and follow quick enough!"
"He sure will. All right ... we ride."
They did, Drew depending on the younger Trinfan's guidance. And, while
Teodoro set a meandering trail, it was not one which a determined pursuer
would have too much trouble following, come sunup or whenever that sentry
discovered he was guarding a straw prisoner.
Once when they pulled up to breathe their horses, dismounting to loose
cinches and cool the backs of the mounts, Drew indulged his curiosity
further.
"How come you knew just where to make that hole to let me out?"
Teodoro laughed. "That was easy, _senor_. That was the Garza Rancho--only
six months has the army been there. Many times we have camped within its
walls when we brought in the best of the wild catch for sale. I know those
buildings very well. When _Senor_ Topham tells my father what must be
done, we could plan well and quickly. I have heard what you said to
_Senor_ Topham, that you are the son of _Don_ Cazar. Why did he not know
of this? Why have you never lived here with him?"
"He didn't know I was alive, and I didn't know that he was. My
grandfather--my mother's father--he hated _Don_ Cazar very much, because of
a duel and other things. So my father took my mother away secretly,
brought her to Texas when they were both very young. Then _Don_ Cazar went
to war and the news came that he had been killed. My grandfather went to
Texas and took my mother home with him. She died a few months later, when
I was born.
"It was only after my grandfather died, two years ago, that letters from
my father were found among his private papers. These I discovered when I
came home from the war, learning that my father was alive and here in
Arizona. Only we were strangers ... I did not know whether he would like
me for a son, or whether I wanted a stranger for a father. So, when I came
here I took the name of my _compadre_, my friend from the war, Anse Kirby.
I wanted to know my father before I made my claims."
"And _Senor_ Juanito--for this he will hate you!"
"Because I did not tell who I was at the start?" Drew asked.
"No--because you are truly _Don_ Cazar's son. Always _Don_ Cazar, he
treated _Senor_ Juanito as a son, but I do not think that was enough.
_Senor_ Juanito, he is one who must have everything, all. Even when he was
a boy, he was like that. Bartolome Rivas, he braids beautiful ropes, and
he made one for Juanito. Always I wanted a rope like that. I would watch
Juanito use it and wish. Then once we spend Christmas at the Stronghold
... it was after my father was hurt and _Don_ Cazar had us to stay there
so he could tend my father's wounds. Had _he_ been with us when the wild
ones stampeded, my father would not walk crooked, but we got him back to
the ranch too late. But that is not what I would say. It was Christmas and
_Don_ Cazar gave to me a rope like that of Juanito, a fine rope which felt
as if it was a part of a man's own arm when he swung it. Two days later,
that rope, it was gone, never did I find it. But I knew--I had seen Juanito
watching me when I tried that fine rope. And I knew his thoughts: no one
must have a rope as good as Juanito's! Not long after that he ran away, to
join the army. But really that was because _Don_ Cazar caught him beating
one of the Indios. Only that is not generally known. The Indio was being
taught by _Don_ Cazar to have charge of the grain storage, and Juanito
thought that Indios are as dirt--should have no place among Anglos. _Senor_
Juanito would hate with a black hate anyone who had a right to be a son at
the Stronghold, a better right than he could claim. He must always be on
top, at the head. Sometimes it would seem that he would, if he could, push
aside _Don_ Cazar himself.... Now I think we should ride again."
By dawn Drew had no idea where they were except that they pushed south.
Whether they were now on the Range he did not know. And how in the
immensity of this hostile country, they could fulfill Topham's hopes and
lead the troop patrol to Rennie's posse, was something the Kentuckian did
not even try to answer. The border lay south. If Kitchell had made such a
sweeping raid, he would be certain to run the animals in that direction,
for the outlaw was fully aware of Rennie's reputation and temper, and knew
that _Don_ Cazar would trail him with set determination.
This meant the outlaw must have set up some plan for avoiding pursuit.
Rouse the Apaches? Or prepare an ambush? Either could work. Then Bayliss'
men could be a saving factor. If the Kentuckian could locate Rennie, and
ride in to his camp--or skulk close enough to it--that should bring the
troops down.
But where was Anse? The Texan had not simply cleared out because of
imminent trouble, Drew was sure of that. Had he followed Shannon to
Mexico? This was one time when Drew could well understand the exasperation
and frustration felt by an officer whose scouts did not report in as
ordered and who had no idea of the disposition of reinforcements. Talk
about going into something blind! But still he rode at a steady,
mile-covering pace southward.
15
"Still south...." Teodoro pointed out the hoof prints deep in the soft
earth beside the water hole. Drew steadied himself with one hand on the
stirrup leathers as he stooped to see more clearly. He was groggy with
lack of sleep and felt that if he once allowed himself to slip completely
to ground level, 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. "_Si_--there is the mark of Bartolome 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 would be more like it, _amigo_. Yesterday, well, they got m'
hoss--tried to git me. Only left their mark, though," Anse said, regarding
his arm ruefully. "I've been wearin' off boot heels hoofin' it ever since.
Tryin' to make it back to that there water hole."
"Who shot your horse?"
"I didn't see no name printed big 'cross his jacket, but I'm thinkin' it
was Shannon."
"You were in Mexico?"
Anse shook his head. "No, an' Shannon ain't there, neither. I trailed
along--ridin' th' high lines careful--when he went with that there Mex
_Coronel_ an' his men. Stayed with him 'bout a day, Shannon did. Then
another man, Anglo, rode into their camp--had him a chin fest with Shannon,
an' Johnny saddled up pronto, beat it with th' stranger. Thought he might
be headin' home, but he weren't. So I kept on ridin' into their dust an'
waitin' to find out what it was all 'bout.
"Shannon an' this hombre, they hit it up a pretty good lick till they got
well away from th' Sonora trail. Then they skimmed it down till you'd
think they had all month an' a handful of extra Sundays to git wherever
they was goin'. Plumb wore me down amblin' 'long th' way they did. I sure
'nough 'bout scraped off my hoss's hoofs cuttin' down his speed.
"Spent a whole day jus' loungin' 'round in one camp. I'd say they was
waitin' for someone--only nobody ever showed. So they went on, me
followin'. I'll tell you one thing. This new hombre Shannon took up with,
he was a real hard case. A short trigger man if I ever laid eye on one.
Anyway we jus' kept on, with me tryin' to think iffen I should Injun up to
git th' drop on 'em or not. Seemed to me, though, as how it might be
brighter to kinda jus' drift their way an' see what's makin' 'em rattle
their hocks out in th' middle of nowhere.
"Guess I weren't as smart as I thought I was. As I said, yesterday
suddenly they give th' spurs an' lit out. Me, guess I got kinda upset
'bout losin' 'em an' followed a bit too hasty. Hoss came down with a hole
in him. Me, I took another. Gave 'em a good sight of a man plugged where
it means th' most an' that musta convinced 'em I wasn't no problem no
more. So--that was what happened. I jus' pulled as green a trick as a
sod-buster tryin' to crawl a wild one! An' where Shannon is now I don't
know--only I don't think it's in Mexico."
"Probably with Kitchell." Hurriedly Drew filled in his own experiences and
what he had learned from Topham.
Anse looked about him. "For territory what looks so bare," he commented,
"this stretch of country sure must have a sight of population wanderin'
'round in it. Th' Old Man an' his posse somewheres up ahead, an' Shannon
an' that side-kick of his, an' Kitchell maybe, as well as th' Yankees
hotfootin' it behind you--or so you hope. Lordy, this's gonna be th' Battle
of Nashville over again' do they all meet up! All we need is a coupla bull
pups up on one of them ridges an' we could blow 'em all to hell-an'-gone!
Jus' which bunch is goin' to claim us first?"
"_Senores_, that is already decided," Teodoro said quietly.
Drew looked up. Where had they come from, those four? Out of the rocks
themselves? He only knew that now they were there, rifles over their
forearms, ready to swing sights on the three below. His heart gave a
lurch--Apaches? And then on the far right he recognized Greyfeather,
Rennie's chief scout. And it was Greyfeather who pointed to them and to
the way ahead, who gave an emphatic wave of the hand which was an order.
Leading their horses, they obeyed, the Pimas falling in behind.
The back-door route to the pass was a rough one. They had to leave the
horses and climb, two of the Pimas always in sight behind, guns ready.
Anse sighed.
"Seems like we have lots of luck--all of it plain bad. These Injuns run us
in an' as far as th' Old Man's concerned we're jus' what everybody claims
we is. We're a coupla saddle bums as is only on th' loose 'cause we got up
earlier an' owned faster hosses than th' sheriff! How'd we ever git our
saddles slipped 'round so wrong, anyway?"
"I did it," Drew said bitterly. "It's not any of your doin', Anse. Tied
myself up in a string of lies and now they have me tight. So help me,
Anse, if I ever get this unsnarled, I'm never goin' to open my mouth again
to say more'n 'yes' or 'no'!"
The Texan laughed. "You ain't never been one to color up a story redder'n
a Navajo blanket! An' don't take on th' whole pack of this when only 'bout
th' salt bag is of your buyin'. You ain't responsible for Kitchell, nor
Johnny Shannon, nor Bayliss' wantin' to down th' Old Man. Can't see as how
much of this is your doin', after all."
Rennie had set his ambush at the pass with care. At first sight there was
no evidence of men lying in wait, but from the heights over which the
Pimas brought their charges, Drew caught glimpses of men crouched behind
sheltering rocks. The bulk of the Range posse was gathered in a hollow on
the south side of the pass and it was there that Greyfeather delivered his
catch.
_Don_ Cazar surveyed them almost without interest. "Bayliss released you
then," he said to Drew.
"No. Reese Topham and the Trinfans broke me out." Drew kept to his recent
vow of truth-telling. And, he noticed with a spark of something
approaching satisfaction, the truth seemed able to shake Rennie a little.
"Reese Topham broke you out! Why?" The demand was quick and to the point.
"He wanted me to play fox for the army's hounds ... bring the troopers
south ... here," Drew replied. "Bayliss wouldn't march out and Topham
thought that you needed some support--with Kitchell apparently on the
move." Telling the truth did not mean you had to tell all of it. There was
no reason to bring Shannon into this now and antagonize Rennie all over
again.
"He what--?" His father was staring at him now with pure amazement. "But
that doesn't make sense," he added as if to himself.
"No? I think it does, suh. Kitchell wouldn't have dared to raid the Range
if he were goin' to stay in this country, would he? And after such a raid
he'd head south. You believe that much or you wouldn't be here waitin' for
him now. Nobody knows how many men ride with that gang--and maybe he can
pull in the Apaches, too. They wouldn't pass up a good chance to get back
at you. You have the reputation of being about the only white man in this
territory to make them turn tail and give up a fight. Now--supposin' you do
get Kitchell stopped here at the pass--and the army patrol comes in behind
him. Then together you can finish him, and perhaps some bronco Apaches
into the bargain. It could work."
Drew paused and then went on. "Of course, I have a good reason of my own
for being here, apart from not wantin' to swallow Captain Bayliss' brand
of justice. Kitchell's men took Shiloh. And nobody, nobody at all, suh, is
goin' to run off that horse--not while I'm able to do something about it!"
"Seems to me, suh," Anse cut in now, "that three more guns is gonna be
healthy for you to have 'round here, does th' fight work out th' way it
can. Me, I don't make no big brag on my shootin'--but I never did wear no
six-gun, nor tote no carbine, jus' for show."
"Of course, if you think we're Kitchell's plants," Drew added, "then keep
us under guard. Only we're not and never were."
"Topham, Topham planned this?" Rennie still showed surprise. "I don't--"
A bird called flutingly. Rennie stiffened. Men moved, up slope, into
cover, without direction.
"You two ... get up there, behind those pointed rocks," _Don_ Cazar
directed with a stab of his finger. "I'll be right behind you."
"We ain't about to give you no trouble," Anse said as he obeyed, and Drew
agreed as he followed the Texan into hiding.
"I'd like a rifle jus' 'bout now," Anse remarked. "Only thing I've ever
held 'gainst a six-gun is that it don't throw lead as far as a fella could
sometimes want it to. But I think we've sorta been ruled outta this here
fight--'less th' enemy gits close 'nough to spit at."
Now they could see down the cut of the pass. The narrow passage wound
between rocks and Drew, though he could not spot them, did not doubt that
Rennie's forces were snuggled in where a surprise volley could do the most
good.
"Somethin' sure is comin'." Anse had one hand flat on the ground. "Feels
like th' whole danged army hoofin' it an' fast!"
Drew was aware of it, too--the vibration carrying through stone and soil.
The drumming of hoofs, horses coming at a run. Now it was more than
vibration, a distinct roll of sound magnified and echoed. And he caught a
shout or two, the cries of men hazing on laggers. It must be Kitchell on
his way through to the border!
A dust haze, rising like smoke. Then the foremost runner of the band
appeared in the cut, the whites of its eyes showing, patches of foam
sticky on chest and shoulder. Five ... ten ... an even dozen--but not a
gray coat among them. One light buckskin had almost startled Drew into
rising until he caught a second and clearer look.
The leaders were through and a second wave was coming. Drew counted twenty
more horses before the first rider appeared. His face was masked against
the dust by a neckerchief drawn up to eye level. But, unlike the ordinary
range rider, he wore an army forage cap in place of the wide-brimmed hat
of the plains. As he spurred by below Drew's perch he glanced up but
seemed to have no suspicion that he was under observation.
There came more horses, and Drew stopped counting. But the gray he sought
was not among them. The shouts of the drivers were louder. And then, as
three men appeared bunched, there was a crackle of shots. Two of the
riders fell, one leaning slowly from the saddle, the other diving into the
dust. The third tried to turn but did not get his horse around before a
mule pushed into him, followed by another and another. The horse thieves
were trapped. Drew could hear the sharp snap of shots along the pass. More
than those three must have been caught in the ambush.
The mules, braying and running wild, thundered on south after the horses.
Then a saddled horse, riderless, galloped by with a second at its heels.
Confused shouting rang out, without any meaningful words. This was as much
a muddle, Drew thought, as any battle. You never saw any action except
that immediately about you--mostly you were too busy trying to keep alive
to care about incidentals. Come to think of it, this was about the first
time he had ever sat out a fight, watching it as a spectator.
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