by Andre Norton
The scent of hay, of grain, of horse.... Drew's head rolled on the pillowimprovised from hay and blanket as sun lay hot across his face. He rubbedthe back of his hand over his eyes and then came fully awake to rememberthe night before.
It took only a minute to get down the ladder into Shadow's stall where abroom tail jiggled up and down above absurdly long baby legs and smallrounded haunches. Shadow's small daughter breakfasted. Callie squatted onhis heels near-by watching the process benignly.
"Ain't she 'bout th' best-favored filly you ever saw?" he asked. "How comeall your hosses is grays? Shiloh her pa?"
Drew shook his head. "No, her sire's Storm Cloud. But all that line aregrays."
"This Storm Cloud, he's a runnin' hoss?"
"About the runnin'est horse in his part of the country, Callie. This fillyought to pick up her heels some, if she takes after her dam and sire."
"What you namin' her?"
Up to that moment Drew had not really thought about it. The crisp airblowing into the stable, carrying something beside the scents of the town,gave him a suggestion.
"How about Sage, Callie?"
The boy thought seriously and then nodded. "Yeah--Sage. That's gray an'it's purty, smells good, too."
Drew pulled up his shirt, dug into the pocket of the money belt for thehorse papers. "Got a pencil--or better--pen and ink around here anywhere?"
"Mister Kells, he keeps ledgers over in th' tack room. Got some ink an' apen there. How come you need that? You ain't makin' out no bill of sale onher already, are you?" Callie was shocked.
"Hardly. Just want to put her down right and proper on the tally sheet."
The boy followed to watch Drew make the record on the margin of Shadow'spapers. As the Kentuckian explained, Callie was deeply interested.
"You mean as how you can tell way back jus' what hosses bred your hosses?That's sure somethin'! Round here we knows a good hoss, but we ain'talways sure of his pa, not if he's wild stuff."
"Lots of wild horses hereabouts then?"
"Sure. Some're jus' mustangs; other's good stuff gone wild--run off by th''Paches an' broke loose, or got away from a 'wet hoss' band--"
"'Wet horse' band?"
Callie glanced at him a little sharply. "How come you ain't knowin' 'bout'wet hosses'? Heard tell as how they have 'em that same trouble down Texasway--"
"But I don't come from the border country."
"Well, Texas sure is a great big piece o' country, so maybe you don't know'bout them river tricks. Wet hosses--they's hosses what is run off up here,driven down to th' border where they's swapped for hosses what some Mex_bandidos_ have thrown a sticky loop over. Then th' Mexes take them Anglohosses south an' sell 'em, where their brands ain't gonna git nobody intonoose trouble. An' th' stolen Mex hosses, they's drove up here an' maybesold to some of th' same fellas what lost th' others. Hosses gitthemselves lost 'long them back-country trails, specially if they's pushedhard. So them strays join up with th' wild ones. Iffen a mustanger canrope him one an' bring it in ... well, if it's a good one, maybe so he'llgit a reward from th' man what's lost him. Heard tell that _Don_ Cazar,he's set some good rewards on a coupla studs as was run off th' Range thissummer."
"_Don_ Cazar has good horses?"
"'Bout th' best in these here parts. He runs 'em on th' Range th' oldstyle--stud an' twenty--twenty-five mares together in a _manada_, all onecolor to a band. They sure is a grand sight: band o' roans, then one o'duns, an' some blacks. He's got one _manada_ all of grullas. Sells some toth' army, drives more clear to Californy. An' th' old _Dons_ down inSonora come up once in a while to pick them out some fancy saddle stock.He sure would enjoy seem' these grays o' yours. Iffen you ever want tosell, _Don_ Cazar'd give you top price."
"But I'm not sellin'." Drew folded the piece of paper he had been wavingto dry the ink and put it back in the belt pocket. "What's that?"
He could almost believe he heard an army bugle, but the call it soundedwas unlike any cavalry signal he had known. Callie was already on his wayto the door.
"Wagon train's comin'!" he cried as he ran out.
Drew lingered by Shadow's box. The filly was resting in the straw, hermatch-stick legs folded under her, and the mare was munching the extrafeed of oats the Kentuckian had tipped in for her. He could hear the soundof other running feet outside. It would seem that all Tubacca was turningout to welcome the wagon train of traders from the south. Drew's curiositygot the better of him. He went on out to the plaza.
