Rebel Spurs
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Andre Norton >> Rebel Spurs
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"Can't believe it ... how they came back to you," he marveled. "One of
them Yankees musta took 'em off me, thinkin' I was cashin' in m' chips.
Sure feels good to git 'em back on my heels agin, sorta like they was m'
luck. Pa, he set a right lot by them spurs. Gave 'em to me when I gentle
broke a wild one none o' th' other boys could back. Was I turkey-cock
proud th' first day I rode into town with 'em playin' pretty tunes, even
though I strapped 'em on over boots as was only three pieces of leather
hangin' to each other restless like. Yeah, Pa, he got 'em in the Mexican
War, an' me, I wore 'em mostly through this past ruckus. They's sure seen
a lotta history bein' made by men climbin' up an' down from saddles!"
"Let's hope ... no more wars." Drew set the three books in a pile and
regarded them attentively. Stein's story of their origin--out of a trunk
hidden in a desert cave--was most intriguing. What else had been in that
trunk?
"Anse," he asked, "why would anyone hide a trunk in a cave?" "Might depend
on what was in it," the Texan replied promptly.
"Well, these were--"
Anse took up the top book. His finger traced each word as he read. "_The
Three Mus--Musketeers._ Whatever kinda critter is that?"
"A soldier. They used to have them over in France a long time ago."
"Army manual, eh? Maybe so the trunk was an army cache--"
Drew shook his head. "No, this is just a story. A good one with lots of
prime fightin' in it. This one's a story, too. I've heard about it ...
never got a chance to read it though." He set _The Count of Monte Cristo_
upright on the table. Anse took the third volume.
"... _Con--Conquest of Mexico_. Hey, conquest means winnin' th' country,
don't it? This about the Mex War which our pa's fought?" He flicked open
the pages eagerly.
"No, the earlier one--when the Spanish came in under Cortes and broke up
the Aztec empire ... back in the 1500's."
"Kinda stiff readin' ... looks interestin' though." Anse gave his verdict.
"We had us two books. Pa learned us to read outta them. One was th' Bible
Ma brought long when she was married. T'other--that sure was kinda queer
how we got that. Pa was in th' Rangers, an' he had this run-in with some
Comanches--" Anse's eyes were suddenly bleak, and Drew remembered the few
stark sentences the Texan had once spoken to explain his reason for being
in the army--a return to a frontier ranch to find nothing left, nothing he
wanted to remember, after the Comanches had swept across the countryside.
"Well," Anse broke that short pause, "Pa shot him one big buck as was
ridin' straight into th' Ranger line, wantin' to count one o' them coups
by whangin' some white man personal with his lance, or some such
foolishness. This buck had him a war shield an' Pa picked it up when all
th' smoke blew away. What'd' you think that there shield was packed with?
Well, this one had a book all tore apart an' stuffed in between th' front
an' back layers of hide. Th' boys in th' company, they got right
interested in sortin' out all them pages an' puttin' 'em in order agin,
kinda like a game, Pa said. Pa, he never had much schoolin', but he could
read good an' write an' figger. He sure liked to read, so he claimed that
there book when it was all tied up together agin--'cause he shot th' buck
as was carryin' th' shield. So he made a buckskin case and kept all th'
pages together. That was 'bout soldiers of th' old time, too--parts of it.
Romans they was called. Wonder now--did it maybe go back into a shield agin
afterward?" He gazed beyond Drew's shoulder into the world outside the
cantina door.
"Why would anyone want to store books in a trunk in a cave?" Drew changed
the subject quickly to break that unseeing stare. He outlined what Stein
had told him, and Anse's attention was all his again.
"Might catch up with this Lutterfield an' ask a few questions--"
"Stein couldn't get anythin' out of him. Guess the old man is a little
addled. Maybe someone was storin' stuff, hopin' to come back when the war
was over. Anyway, there's no way to identify the owner or owners--"
Anse picked up _The Three Musketeers_. "You say this is good--'bout
fightin' an' such?"
Drew nodded. "Try it ..."
"Somethin' like this is good t' have. A hombre gits tired readin' labels
on cans. I'd like to see how much Pa pushed into m' thick head. Good
coverin' this book has. Wouldn't you say as th' hombre that had it was
kinda heavy in th' pocket?"
"Yes. In fact, these were bound to order."
"How can you tell that?"
"These two might have come bound alike." Drew pointed to the book Anse
held and _The Count of Monte Cristo_. "They were written by the same
author and could have been part of a matched set. But this one is on a
totally different subject and by another writer--Prescott. Yet it is
uniformly bound to match the others. I'd say they came from the personal
library of a man able to indulge himself in pretty expensive tastes."
"Makes you think," Anse agreed. "Wonder what else was in that trunk."
"Looky what we've got us here! Regular li'l schoolhouse right in this
cantina!"
The table moved an inch or so as a thick body brought up with a rush
against it. A hand, matted with sun-bleached hair, made a grab for the
book Drew had just laid down. Before the startled Kentuckian could pull it
back from that grasp, hand and book were gone, and the trooper who had
taken it was reeling back to the bar, waving the trophy over his head.
"Schoolhouse ... right here ..." he mouthed. "Sittin' there ... two li'l
boys, studyin' their lessons. Now, ain't that somethin'?"
A chair went over with a crash. Anse was on his feet, had taken two steps
in the direction of the soldier. Drew jumped after him, trying to assess
the situation even as his hand closed restrainingly on the Texan's
shoulder.
There were four troopers. Wide grins on the faces of the three still
against the bar suggested they were ready to back their companion in any
form of horseplay he intended to try.
"Sam, one o' them thar schoolboys is breathin' down yore neck kinda hot
like," the tallest of the bar row observed.
Anse jerked against Drew's hold. There was no expression on his thin face,
but the old saber scar from lip to eye on his left cheek was suddenly
twice as noticeable.
Sam reached up against the bar, squirmed around, the book still in his
hand.
"Wal, now, sonny, you ain't really wantin' this here book back? Never
knowed any li'l boy what warn't glad to see th' last o' a book. Better git
away from a real man 'fore you gits yore backside warmed. That's what th'
teacher does to smarty kids, ain't it?"
"You'd better watch out, Sam." Again the tall man cut in. Sam was still
grinning, but there was a curve of lip which was far from any real humor,
even that provoked by the practical jokes of a barracks bully. "One of
them kids had been sayin' as how he rode with Forrest, regular li'l
red-hot Reb, he is. Stomp all over us ... that's what you Rebs has been
promisin' to do, ain't it? Gonna stomp all over any Blue Bellies as comes
into this town? Well, we ain't bein' booted--not easy--an' not by you, Reb!"
A second, perhaps more--that much warning Drew had before the speaker
lurched from the bar straight for him. What had happened, how this had
sprung up out of nothing, the Kentuckian could not understand. But he knew
well that he was under an attack delivered with a purpose, and with all
the dirty tricks of a no-rules, back-alley fighter.
8
Only once before, when some river toughs had ganged up on the scouts, had
Drew had to use fists to beat his way out of an argument. But that had
been a round dance at Court House Day compared to this. Within moments the
Kentuckian knew that he was no match for the trooper, that he would be
lucky if he could get out of this unmaimed. The fellow knew every dirty
trick and was eager to use them all. Drew tried only to keep on his feet
and out of the other's grip. Once down, he knew he would have no chance at
all.
Then he was jerked back, off balance, staggering on to bring up against
the wall. He caught at the solid backing and somehow remained upright,
seeing hazily through one eye. The other was puffing closed, and his lip
was torn, a trickle of blood rising there to drip down his chin. He put
both hands to his middle where more than one of the pile-driver knocks had
landed, and tried to understand what was happening.
Sergeant Muller ... that was Muller standing over the man on the floor.
And Nye ... Reese Topham ... suddenly the cantina was very well populated.
Drew turned his head cautiously to see on his blind side. Anse was down!
The Kentuckian stood away from the wall, lurched out to fall to his knees.
He rolled the Texan over on his back. Anse's eyes fluttered open, and he
looked up dazedly. There was an angry red mark on his chin just an inch or
so away from the point of his jaw.
"Now, just what devil's business is goin' on here?" The sergeant's voice
was a roar to hurt the ears. Somehow Drew got an arm under Anse's
shoulders and tried to hoist him up. The Kentuckian swallowed blood from
his lip and glared at Muller.
"Suppose you ask those high-binders of yours!" he snapped. And once more
it was Sergeant Rennie who spoke.
Other hands joined his to boost Anse. With Topham's aid Drew regained his
feet and got the staggering Texan, still half unconscious, onto a chair.
"I'm interested, too." The cantina owner's drawl was as slow as ever, but
it held a note of a whiplash.
"Them soldiers...." Fowler appeared, the bar-side shotgun across his
arm--"they jumped th' boys. I saw it, myself."
"Yeah, told yuh these town buzzards're all th' same. Stick together an'
have it in for th' army!"
Drew could not see which of the troopers had burst out with that, but in
his present mood all bluecoats were the enemy.
"Dirty Yanks!" Anse's eyes were fully focused now--right on the sergeant.
Anse struggled to get up, but Topham's hands on his shoulders held him
down. His hand went to his holster, and Drew's fist came down on the
Texan's wrist, hard.
"See that thar, Sarge! Th' stinkin' polecat of a Reb was gonna draw on
you! Told you, they's all alike. Th' war ain't over; we jus' gotta keep on
lickin' 'em. Give us room, an' we'll do it again--now!"
Anse's face was green-white under the weathering, save for the wound on
his jaw. He was watching Muller as if the sergeant, rather than his men,
was the focal point of any future attack.
"You--Stevens--shut your trap!" Muller's roar brought silence. Drew could
actually hear the panting breaths of the men now.
"Mitchell, what happened here?" Muller turned to the man at his far right.
The trooper was younger than the rest, his face still holding something of
a boyish roundness. His eyes shifted under the sergeant's steady, boring
stare, and he glanced at the rest of his companions, the two disheveled
fighters, the lanky man picking up a forage cap and handing it to one of
them.
"I dunno, Sergeant. Th' boys ... they was jus' funnin'. They didn't meant
nothin', jus' funnin'. Then these here Rebs, they come right after Helms,
was gonna jump him from behind. An' Danny waded in jus' to keep that
one"--the boy pointed straight at Drew--"offa Helms. That's what happened.
Th' boys didn't mean no harm--jus' havin' a little fun--when these Rebs
jumped 'em!"
Drew pulled up his neckerchief and dabbed at his cut lip. Anse had
subsided, though he was still watching the sergeant with an unrelenting
gaze. The Kentuckian tried to remember where Fowler had been during the
fracas. He had spoken up for them already, but would Muller accept his
testimony over that of his own men? There was already ill feeling between
the army and the town. Drew remembered _Don_ Cazar's encounter with
Bayliss at Kells' stable. What had Reese Topham said then? That the
captain was only waiting to make trouble for Rennie. And now here he was
himself--one of Rennie's riders--involved in a saloon fight with troopers.
Drew began to realize that this could be even worse than the physical
punishment he and Anse had suffered.
"You ... bartender--" The sergeant now looked to Fowler. "What'd you see?"
"You ain't gonna take his word for it, for anythin' in this mudhole of a
town, are you, Sarge? They'd all lie their heads off to git a trooper into
trouble. Wouldn't you now?" The lanky man sidled along the bar to snarl at
Fowler.
"Stevens, shut that big mouth of yours, an' I ain't gonna say that agin!
All right, Fowler, tell me what _you_ saw!"
Fowler slid the shotgun out of sight, apparently sure that an armistice,
at least, was assured.
"Th' boys"--he nodded at Drew and Anse--"were sittin' at that table, mindin'
their own business. Helms, he went over an' picked up a book----"
"A book!" Muller's craggy features mirrored astonishment. "What book?
Why?"
Topham moved and suddenly they were all watching him. He stooped, picked
up the dark-brown volume, and a torn page fluttered to the floor. He
gathered that up, too, and tucked it back in the proper place.
"It would seem, Sergeant," he remarked, "that there _was_ a book involved.
And if your men didn't bring it in here, then Kirby or his friend must
have. This is certainly not a cantina fixture. Hmm, _History of the
Conquest of Mexico_," he read the title on the cracked spine. "There are
more books, I see." He stepped to the side of the overturned table,
gathered the other two volumes, and placed them together in a neat pile on
the bar. All of the men continued to watch him as if his actions were
highly significant.
"So--" he turned to face Muller. "We have established that there was a
book, in fact, three books."
"What'd you want with that book, Helms?" Muller demanded.
He was met by a scowl. "Nothin'. I was jus' funnin'--like Ben said. Then
them Rebs started playin' rough, an' we jus' gave 'em a lesson."
Fowler snorted. "I say Helms started it, an' th' jumpin' went th' other
way 'round, Sergeant. An' that's all I got to say."
"Well, it isn't all I have to say! Sergeant, just what is going on here?"
Whoever, having once heard that turkey cock crow, could ever forget it,
thought Drew. Captain Bayliss strode in, powdery white dust graying his
blue blouse, his face redder and more sun peeled than ever. The troopers
behind Muller stiffened into wooden soldiers, all expression vanishing
from their features until they matched each other in exact anonymity.
"Sergeant, take those two men into custody." A jerk of the head indicated
Drew and Anse. The Kentuckian straightened.
"On what charge, Captain?" he got out.
"Attacking a United States soldier."
"In performance of his duty, Captain?" Reese Topham cut in. "I hardly
think you can say that. Your men were apparently off duty. At least they
were in here, drinking, too. You _did_ serve them, Fowler?"
"Sure did, boss! Let's see now ... Helms, he had whisky; so did Stevens.
Mitchell, now, he had a beer----"
"It remains that they were attacked while wearing the uniform!" Bayliss'
glare now included the full company before him.
"From what I've heard, they did the attacking," Topham pointed out. "At
least Helms seems to have given provocation. No, Captain Bayliss, your men
were in here drinking. They started a brawl. Your sergeant very rightly
broke it up. That's the sum of the matter!"
Bayliss' high color was fading. "You want it left that way, Topham?" he
asked icily. "This only confirms my contention that matters in Tubacca are
completely out of control, that the Rebel element has the backing of the
citizens. I shall so report it."
"That is your privilege." Topham nodded. "But this is still Tubacca and
not your camp, Captain. And _my_ cantina. If you want to declare my
establishment out of bounds for your men, that is also your privilege."
"I do so--immediately! Sergeant, get these men out of here!"
"What about the prisoners, sir?"
"I think the captain will agree there are no prisoners," Topham said. "We
would be obliged to give evidence at any army hearing, Captain. Kirby here
is not a troublemaker. I would unhesitatingly vouch for him."
Bayliss looked directly at Drew.
"You have a job? A reason for being in town?" He shot the questions as he
might have shot slugs from his Colt. Nye answered before Drew could.
"He sure has a job, Cap'n. He's ridin' th' rough string for Rennie. An' he
came to town with them remounts you're buyin'. An' what Topham says is
true, th' kid ain't no troublemaker. He's 'bout th' most peaceful hombre I
ever rode with."
"Rider for Rennie, eh? I might have known!" Bayliss snapped. "And what
about this one--he riding for Rennie, too?" He pointed to Anse.
"He's my cousin," Drew returned. "He just got into town."
"Another Rebel?"
Anse stood up. "If you mean was I with th' Confederate army, Yankee--I sure
was, from Shiloh clean through. Got me this to prove it. Do you want to
see?" From the inner band of his hat he brought out a much creased paper.
"No, you don't!" He twitched the sheet away when Bayliss reached for it.
"I'll jus' let Mister Topham read it. I want to keep it safe." He handed
the paper to the gambler.
"Parole, Captain, signed and made out properly," Topham reported. "Dated
in Tennessee for a prisoner of war--June, 1865. I hardly think you can
claim this is one of Kitchell's men, if that is what you have in mind."
"No, but he'll be out of this town or he'll answer to me. Both of you--next
time you step over the line, I'm taking you both in!" Bayliss spoke now to
Nye. "I heard young Shannon was here, that you had him in tow and that
he's seen Kitchell. I want to talk to him."
"He's over to th' doc's, an' Doc'll have th' say 'bout that, Cap'n," Nye
replied. "Johnny took a pretty bad crease 'longside his skull."
"He'll answer a few questions that badly need answering." Bayliss was
already on his way to the door. Nye stepped back and let him pass. He
grinned.
"Let him have it out with Doc. Ain't nobody runnin' a stampede over Doc
Matthews, not even th' cap'n when he's got his tail up an' ready to hook
sod with both horns. Only, lissen here, kid, maybe you'd better keep outta
sight. Seems like a man who's waitin' to catch a fella makin' his boot
mark in th' wrong pasture can sometimes do it."
"Nye's right," Topham agreed. "Bayliss can either catch you off guard or
see you're provoked again into doing something he can rope you in for. I'd
get back to the Range and stay there until things settle down a little and
someone else takes the good captain's mind off you."
"What about Anse? You take him on, Nye?" Drew asked.
"I ain't got th' authority to hire, Kirby. But no reason why he can't go
down th' trail with us. Old Man is always on lookout for a good rider.
Soon as we see how Johnny's doin', we'll head south. I already sent
Greyfeather back to tell the Old Man th' kid's hurt an' up here. Reese,
what'd you think 'bout Bayliss? That he'll try to take over runnin' the
town?"
"Might just," the gambler replied.
"_Could_ he do it?"
"I hardly think so. What he's really out for is Hunt's hide. He doesn't
want a powerful civilian ready to face up to him all the time. If he can
discredit _Don_ Cazar in this country, he figures he has it made."
Nye laughed shortly. "Lordy, what bottle did he suck out a dream like
that? A lizard might jus' as well try to fight it out with a cougar an'
think he hadda chance of winnin'. This here's th' Range, an' ain't nobody
but th' Old Man runs th' Range! Bayliss, he's ridin' for a fall as will
jar them big grinnin' teeth of his right outta his jaws!"
"Maybe, only there can be upsets." Topham looked thoughtful.
"What kind--and how?" Drew asked quickly.
Topham was playing with the three books, setting them up, putting them
flat again. "Hunt didn't take sides during the war, but he did have
Southern sympathies in part. After all, he was Texas-born. And Johnny
joined Howard when they raised that Confederate troop here. He retreated
with Sibley's force back east and fought through the rest of the war on
the Southern side. Yes, Bayliss, given the right circumstances and a
sympathetic listening ear in high circles, could make trouble for Rennie.
Especially if the good captain had an incident on which to hang such a
report."
"You kinda shoved him into that out-of-bounds order for th' Jacks, didn't
you now?" Nye pushed his hat to the back of his head and lit a cigarillo.
"Muller and most of the boys can be counted on not to cause any more than
the normal pay-night disturbances. But there're some.... What _did_ happen
here today, Kirby?"
Drew told it straight and flat in as few words as possible. And Topham's
face was sober when he had finished. The gambler brought the top book of
the pile down on the bar with a thud.
"I don't like it!"
"Jus' ornery meanness, warn't it? There's always a few hombres in any
outfit as tries to push when they gits a slug or two under their belts,"
Nye observed.
"True. Only Helms went out of his way this time. And I'd like to know what
triggered him into it. I can understand some roughhousing on his
part--Stevens, too--providing these boys were on the prod in the beginning.
But this book business was too deliberate. Books--" He held up the volume
he was still fingering. "Where'd these come from anyway, Kirby?"
Drew retailed the story he had heard from Stein. Nye walked over to look
at the display of reading matter, his interest plainly aroused.
"Lutterfield brought 'em in, eh? Now that's somethin'. Trunk in a cave ...
Sounds like these might belong to one of them mine men--a super, maybe.
They pulled out fast in '61, right after th' army left. Except for Hodges,
an' th' Rebs threw him in jail after they took his business an' what cash
he had on hand."
"Could be," Topham agreed. "But where they came from doesn't matter as
much as why Helms chose to use them the way he did. However--and now I'm
giving it to you straight, Kirby--this is once I'd follow Bayliss' orders.
You and your cousin here had better make yourselves scarce."
"An' jus' why?" Anse demanded. "We ain't givin' you any double-tongue wag
over this----"
"I'm not saying you are. I'm just saying that Bayliss and probably
Helms--maybe others--will be waiting, just as the captain promised. You can
be easily suckered into just such another fight. And they'd be smarter
about it next time, so you won't have anyone to call their bluff in your
favor. Once they get you into the camp stockade, it might be difficult to
get you out. And this is something else, stranger, you went for your gun a
few minutes ago. Kirby stopped you, but next time that could lead to real
trouble."
"I can't see why--" Drew began.
"Well"--Anse was on the defensive--"a man can take jus' so much pushin', an'
we had more'n that! Next time anybody lays his dirty hands on me, he's
gonna know he's had him trouble, all right!"
"I don't mean that." Drew waved Anse's retort aside. "I don't see why we
were jumped in the first place. Unless it was because we happened to be
here at a time when they wanted to start trouble?" He made that into a
question and looked to Topham for the answer.
"Could be," the gambler admitted.
"Only you're not sure?" Drew persisted.
"Could be you were handy and they had some kind of a hint to start a
ruckus just to show there ain't any proper law here. Could be that they
knew you ride for Hunt and that made you just the game they wanted."
"Helms's kinda dumb to play any cute game," Nye protested. "An' th' sarge,
he's always been a good guy, I don't see him bitin' happy on any such
backhand orders."
"Not orders, no. Captain Bayliss is still too army to give any such
orders. Helms's always been a troublemaker; he wouldn't need much more
than a suggestion or two of the right sort. Helms, Stevens, Danny Birke,
and that kid Mitchell. You're right so far, Nye." Topham grinned. "Like as
not, I'm imaginin' things--a greenhorn huntin' Apaches behind every bush.
None of that crew has the brains to see anything beyond the tip of his
nose. No, I guess we can take it that you were handy and they had too much
red-eye on empty stomachs. Only, I mean it, Kirby, you walk soft and get
back to the Range as quick as you can."
"That suits me," Drew agreed.
"Come on over an' let Doc take a look at that face of yours," Nye ordered.
"You look like you came up behind a mule an' the critter did a mite of
dancin' backwards! You come 'long, too," he extended the invitation to
include Anse.
His face patched up after a fashion, Drew lay full length on the hay in
his old place over Shadow's stall back at Kells' stable. Anse sat
crosslegged beside him, the bruise now a black shadow on his jaw.
"Somethin' 'bout this show's bad, plain as a black saddle on a white hoss.
Nobody could be fannin' a six-gun for you personal, Drew, 'less you had a
run-in before with one of them Blue Bellies." The Texan paused and Drew
shook his head, wincing at the pain from his numerous cuts and bruises.
Anse went on. "Some hombres are always on th' peck once they get likkered
up, but them troopers weren't that deep. Looks to me now, thinkin' it
over, they was out to make sod fly. Could be as they had trouble with some
other riders an' we was handy an' looked peaceable enough to take easy.
But I dunno. You know, a fella who's scouted an' hunted Injuns an' popped
bush cattle, to say nothin' of toppin' wild ones what can look like a nice
quiet little pony one minute an' have a belly full of bedsprings an' a sky
touchin' back th' next--a fella who's had him all that kinda experience an'
a saddlebag full of surprises in his time gits so he can smell a storm
comin' 'fore th' first cloud shows. If we had the sense we shoulda been
born with, we'd ride hell-to-thunder outta here now!"
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