Rebel Spurs | Page 2

his own
immediate concerns. The animal he rode, the two he led were, at first
glance, far more noticeable than the dusty rider himself.
His saddle was cinched about the barrel of a big gray colt, one that
could not have been more than five years old but showed enough power
and breeding to attract attention in any horse-conscious community.

Here was a thoroughbred of the same blood which had pounded race
tracks in Virginia and in Kentucky to best all comers. Even now, after
weeks on the trail, with a day's burden of alkali dust grimed into his
coat, the stud was a beautiful thing. And his match was the mare on the
lead rope, plainly a lady of family, perhaps of the same line, since her
coat was also silver. She crowded closer, nickered plaintively.
She was answered by an anxious bray from the fourth member of the
party. The mule bearing the trail pack was in ludicrous contrast to his
own aristocratic companions. His long head, with one entirely limp and
flopping ear, was grotesquely ugly, the carcass beneath the pack a bone
rack, all sharp angles and dusty hide. Looks, however, as his master
could have proven, were deceiving.
"Soooo--" The rider's voice was husky from swallowing trail grit, but it
was tuned to the soothing croon of a practiced horse trainer.
"Sooo--lady, just a little farther now, girl...."
From the one-story building on the rider's right a man emerged. He
paused to light a long Mexican cigarillo, and as he held the match to let
the sulfur burn away, his eyes fell upon the stallion. A casual interest
tightened into open appreciation as he stepped from under the
porch-overhang into the street.
"That is some horse, sir." His voice was that of an educated gentleman.
The lantern at the end of the porch picked out the fine ruffled linen of
his shirt, a vest with a painted design of fighting cocks, and the wink of
gold buttons. The rather extravagant color of his clothing matched well
with the town.
"I think so." The answer was short and yet not discourteous.
Again the mare voiced her complaint, and the rider turned to the
gentleman. "There is a livery stable here, suh?" Unconsciously he
reverted in turn to the rather formal speech pattern of another place and
time.
The man in the painted vest had transferred his attention from stallion

to mare. "Yes. Quickest way is down this alley. Tobe Kells owns it.
He's a tolerable vet, too. She's near her time, ain't she?"
"Yes." The rider raised one finger to the straight wide brim of his
low-crowned black hat. He was already turning his mount when the
townsman added:
"No hotel here, stranger. But the Four Jacks serves a pretty good meal
and keeps a couple of beds for overnighters. You're welcome back
when you've settled the little lady. She Virginia stock?"
"Kentucky," the rider answered, and then his lips tightened into a
compressed line. Was it a mistake to admit even that much? He would
have to watch every word he said in this town. He tugged gently at the
lead rope and walked Shiloh ahead at a pace which did not urge
Shadow to any great effort. The mule, Croaker, fell in behind her so
that they were strung out in the familiar pattern which had been theirs
clear from Texas.
Minutes later her owner was rubbing down the fretful Shadow,
murmuring the soothing words to quiet her. The lean, gray-haired man
who had ushered them into the stable stood eyeing the mare's distended
sides.
"I'd say, young fellow, you didn't git her here a mite too soon, no, siree.
She's due right quick. Carryin' a blood foal, I'm thinkin'--"
"Yes. How soon? Tonight?"
Tobe Kells made a quick examination. The mare, after a first nervous
start, stood easy under his sure and gentle hands. "Late, maybe. First
foal?"
"Yes." Her owner hesitated and then added, "You give me a hand with
her?"
"You bet, son. She's a pretty thing, an' she's been a far piece, I'd say.
Now you looky here, boy--you sure look like you could take some

curryin' an' corn fodder under your belt too. You git over to th' Four
Jacks. Topham's got him a Chinee cookin' there who serves up th' best
danged grub in this here town. Fill up your belly an' take some ease.
Then if we do have this little lady gittin' us up tonight, you'll be ready
for it. I'll see t' th' stud an' th' mule. That colt's not a wild one." Kells
surveyed Shiloh knowingly. "No, I seed he was gentle-trained when
you come in." He ran his hand down Shiloh's shoulder, touched the
brand. "Spur R? That ain't no outfit I heard tell of before."