Rebel Spurs | Page 6

but somber Spanish clothing replied.
"It sure must go hard with a man to have his son turn out a wild one,"
commented the third.
Drew's cup was at his lips, but he did not drink. Whose son? Rennie's?
"No son by blood, that much comfort Don Cazar has. But foster ties are
also strong. And the boy is still very young--"
"A rattler with only one button on the tail carries as much poison as a
ten-button one. Rennie ought to cut losses and give that kid the boot.
The way he's going he could involve Hunt in a real mess," Cahill said.
"You are Don Cazar's good friend, Don Reese, his compadre of many
years. Can you not do something?"
"Don Lorenzo, all men have blind spots. And Johnny Shannon is
Rennie's. Bob Shannon helped free Hunt out of Mex prison in the war
and was killed doing it. Soon as Hunt set up here he sent for the boy
and tried to give him a father."
"It is a great pity he has no child of his own blood. I have seen him
stand here in Tubacca giving toys and candy to the little ones. Yet he
has only this wild one under his roof, and perhaps that Juanito will
break his heart in the end...."
Drew put down his cup. It was very hard not to turn and ask questions.
Dropping some coins on the table, he rose and started back to the stable,

to the world of Shiloh and Shadow where he was unable to betray Drew
Rennie. But there was so much Drew Kirby must learn--and soon!

2
Two lighted lanterns hung from pegs along the center of the stable, and
Callie had mounted a barrel to put up a third as Drew entered. There
were the soft peaceful sounds of horses crunching fodder, hoofs
rustling in straw. Shadow turned her head and nickered as Drew came
up to her box stall. She was answered by a blowing from Shiloh, a bray
out of Croaker.
"It's all right, girl--pretty lady--" Drew fondled her mane, stroked the
satin-smooth arch of neck. Callie dropped from his barrel perch.
"She sure is right purty, Mister Kirby. Mister Kells said as to tell you
he's sleepin' on a cot in th' tack room over there, should you be needin'
him." Callie pointed. "Me, I'm beddin' down in the last stall. I put your
gear up right over here, so's you can hear if she gits to movin'--"
"Thanks." Drew felt in a pocket, tossed Callie the coin his fingers
found.
The boy caught the piece, his eyes round as he looked at it. "Lordy!
Thanks, Mister Kirby! You must be near as shiny as Don Cazar--or
Mister Topham!"
"Shiny?"
Callie laughed. "Silver-shiny! Ain't too many men as goes round
Tubacca throwin' out good money thataway. 'Less it's ringin' down on
th' bar, or slidin' 'cross some table 'cause they found out as how they
was holdin' Jacks against some other fella's Kings. You want
anything--you jus' holler, Mister Kirby!"
"Mister?" Drew thought he did not have the advantage of Callie by
more than four or five years.

"Oh--Captain Kirby, maybe? Or Lieutenant? Johnny Shannon--now he
was a lieutenant with Howard's Rangers." Callie gave Drew a shrewd
measuring look.
"Sergeant." Drew corrected automatically and then asked: "How did
you know I'd been in the army?"
"Well, you wear them two shootin' irons army style, belted high an' butt
to front. Must use a flip-hand draw as do all th' hoss soldiers. Listen,
Mister Kirby, iffen you rode with th' Rebs, you better keep your lip
buttoned up when th' Blue Bellies hit town. There's been a pile of
fightin' an' folks is gittin' mad 'bout it--"
"Blue Bellies?" Drew was wrenched back months, a year, by that old
army slang. "Union troops stationed here?" He had unconsciously
tensed, his body responding nerve and muscle to past training and
alarms. But there were no Yanks or Rebs any more, no riders or
marchers in blue and gray--just United States troops.
"There's a garrison out to the Mesa camp. An' Cap'n Bayliss, he don't
take kindly to Rebs. You see, it's this way.... Out in th' breaks there's a
bunch of Rebs-leastways they claim as how they's Rebs--still holdin'
out. They hit an' run, raidin' ranches an' mines; they held up a coach a
while back. An' so far they've ridden rings round th' cap'n. Now he
thinks as how any Reb blowin' in town could be one of 'em, comin' to
sniff out some good pickin's. So anyone as can't explain hisself proper
to th' cap'n gits locked up out at camp till he can--"
"Trifle highhanded, ain't he?"
"Well, th' cap'n's for law an' order, an' he's army. But folks