Rebel Spurs | Page 8

he felt.
Deliberately he tried to subdue the sensation as he turned to the girl.
"What's the matter?"
At first glance he might have thought her a boy, for she wore hide
breeches and boots, a man's shirt now hanging loosely about her hips.
She jerked her head, and a thick braid flopped from under her
wide-brimmed hat.
"Señor, por favor--please--we have done no wrong. We are the
Trinfans--Teodoro and me. Teodoro, he finds Señor Juanito's purse in
the road, he follows to give it back. He is not a bandido--he is not espía,
a spy one. We are mustangers. Ask of Don Reese, of Señor Kells. Why,
Señor Juanito, do you say Teodoro spy on you, why you hit him with
the whip?"
"Not thief, not spy!" The boy beside Drew dropped a wealed hand from
his face. "The man who says Teodoro Trinfan is ladrón--bad one--him I
kill!"
Drew's left arm swept out across the boy's chest, pinning him back
against the stable.
"Now, what's your story?" the Kentuckian asked the man he fronted.
"An' jus' what's all this smokin' 'bout?" Kells came out. "You, Shannon,
what're you doin' here? Been drinkin' again, fightin', too, by th' look of
you."
"Señor Kells." The girl caught at the older man's arm. "Por favor, señor,
we are not thieves, not spies. We come after Señor Juanito because he

dropped his purse. Then he see Teodoro coming, he not listen--he beat
on him with quirt. You know, we are honest peoples!"
"Now then, Faquita, don't you git so upset, gal!" She was wailing aloud,
making no effort to wipe away the tears running down her cheeks.
"Johnny, what kinda game you tryin'? You know these kids are straight;
them an' their ol' man's come to work th' Range for wild ones on
Rennie's own askin'. Takin' a quirt to th' kid, eh?" Kells' voice slid up
the scale. "You sure have yourself a snootful tonight! Now you jus'
walk yourself outta here on th' bounce. I'm doin' th' sayin' of what goes
on, on my own property."
"You do a lotta sayin', Kells." The scowl was gone; Shannon's battered
mouth was actually smiling. But, Drew decided, he liked the scowl
better than the smile and the tone of the voice accompanying it. "Some
men oughtta put a hobble on their tongues. Sure, I know these young
whelps an' their pa too. Sniffin' round where they ain't wanted. An'
mustangers ain't above throwin' a sticky loop when they see a hoss
worth it. We ain't blind on th' Range." His head swung a little so he was
looking at the girl. "You'd better hold that in mind, gal. Double R
hosses have come up missin' lately. It's easy to run a few prime head
south to do some moonlight tradin' at th' border. An' we don't take
kindly to losin' good stock!"
The boy lunged against Drew's pinioning arm. "Now he says we are
horse thieves! Tell that to us before the Don Cazar!"
Shannon curled the quirt lash about his wrist. "Don't think I won't, Mex!
He don't like havin' his colt crop whittled down. You--" Those blue
eyes, brilliant, yet oddly shallow and curtained, met Drew's for the
second time. "Don't know who you are, stranger, but you had no call to
mix in. I'll be seein' you. Kinda free with a gun, leastwise at showin' it.
As quick to back up your play?"
"Try me!" The words came out of Drew before he thought.
Why had he said that? He had never been one to pick a fight or take up
a challenge. What was there about Shannon that prodded Drew this

way? He'd met the gamecock breed before and had never known the
need to bristle at their crowing. Now he was disturbed that Shannon
could prick him so.
Odd, the other had been successfully turned from his purpose here. Yet
now as he swung around and walked away down the alley Drew was
left with a nagging doubt, a feeling that in some way or other Shannon
had come off even in this encounter.... But how and why?
Teodoro spat. His sister tugged at Kells' sleeve. "It is not true what he
said. Why does he wish to make trouble?"
"Lissen, gal, an' you, too, Teodoro--jus' keep clear of Johnny Shannon
when he's on th' prod that way. I've knowed that kid since he didn't
have muscle enough to pull a gun 'less he took both hands to th' job.
But he's not needin' any two hands to unholster now. An' he's drinkin' a
lot--mean, ugly drunk, he is. Somethin' must have riled him good
tonight--"
"In the cantina there was a soldier from the camp," Faquita volunteered.
"They call names. He and Señor Juanito fight. Don Reese, he