by Andre Norton
7
" ... and that's the way it is." Drew sat on the stool which was the onlyother furnishing in the bath cubicle while Anse splashed and wallowed inthe slab tub.
The Texan swiped soap from his cheek. "An' ain't you gonna tell?"
"I don't know. Would you?"
"Go with m' hat in hand an' say, 'Well, Pa, here's your wanderin' boy'?No, I dunno as how I'd be makin' that kinda play neither. Never was one tounspool th' bedroll till I was sure o' th' brand I was ridin' for. An' youan' me's kinda hide-matched there. Glad you wised me up in time."
"Maybe I didn't," Drew admitted.
"You mean that Shannon? I know you think he's filin' his teeth for you,but I'd say he was too busy countin' stars from that skull beltin' to makesense out of our hurrawin'. I'll give him th' eye though. Lissen now,you're Kirby--so am I called for a rebrandin', too? Seems like two Kirbysturnin' up in a town this size is gonna make a few people ask somequestions."
"You're my cousin--Anson Kirby." Drew had already thought that out. "Now,you've some tall talkin' to do your ownself. I saw you roll out of yoursaddle back in Tennessee. How come you turn up here and now?"
Anse sluiced water over his head and shoulders with cupped hands.
"Do I tell it jus' like it happened, you'll think I'm callin' up mountainsoutta prairie-dog hills, it's that crazy. But it's range truth. Yeah, Ilanded outta that saddle on some mighty hard ground. If you'll remember, Ihad me a hole in the shoulder big enough to let th' wind whistle through.I rolled between th' bushes jus' in time to see you get it--plumb centeran' final, so I thought. Then ... well, I don't remember too good for awhile. Next time I was able to take a real interest I was lyin' on a bedwith about a mountain of quilts on top me, weaker'n a yearlin' what's jus'been dragged outta a bog hole. Seems like them Yankees gathered me up withth' rest of them bushwacker scrubs, but when they got me a mile or so downth' road they decided as how I'd had it good an' there was no use wastin'wagon room on me. So they let me lie....
"Only," the Texan paused and then continued more soberly, "Drew,sometimes--sometimes it seems like a hombre can have a mite more'n hisshare of luck; or else he's got him Someone as is line ridin' for him. Wehad us friends in Tennessee, an' it jus' happened as how I was droppedwhere one of them families found me. They sure was good folks; patched meup an' saw me through like I was their close kin. Hid me out by sayin' ashow I had th' cholera.
"An' most of th' time I didn't know a rope from a saddle--outta my headcomplete. First there was that shoulder hole; then I got me a good case oflung fever. It was two months 'fore I could crawl round better'n a sickcalf what lost its ma too early. Then, jus' as I got so I could stamp m'boots on th' ground an' expect to stand straight up in 'em, this hereYankee patrol came 'long an' dogged me right into a bunch o' our boys theyhad rounded up. I had me some weeks in a prison stockade, which ain't, I'mtellin' you, no way for to spend any livin' time. Then this here war wasover, an' I was loose. No hoss, no nothin'. Some of th' boys got totalkin' 'bout trailin' back to Texas, tryin' out some ranchin' in the bushcountry. A lotta wild stuff down there--nobody's been runnin' brands onanythin' much since '61. We planned to get a herd of mavericks, drive upinto Kansas or Missouri, an' sell. A couple of th' boys had run stuff inthat way for th' army, even swum 'em across the Mississippi. It wouldmaybe give us a start. An'--well, there weren't nothin' else to do. So wetried it." Anse sat staring down at the water lapping at his lean middle.His was a very thin body, the ribs standing out beneath the skin almost asharshly as did the weal of the scar on his shoulder.
"And it didn't work?"
"Well, it might've. I ain't sayin' it won't for some hombres. Only we runinto trouble. Texas ain't Texas no more; it's th' Fifth Military District.Any man what fought for th' Confederacy ain't got any rights. It's worse'nan Injun war. We got us our herd, leastwise th' beginnin' of one. An' thatwas back-breakin' work--we was feelin' as beat as when we run out ofTennessee after Franklin. Only we kept to it, 'cause it would give us astake. So we started drivin' north, an' they jumped us."
"Who?"
"Yankees--th' brand what probably set at home an' let others do th' realfightin'--ready to come in an' take over once th' shootin' was done with.They grabbed th' herd. Shot Will Bachus when he stood up to 'em, an' madeit all legal 'cause they had a tin-horn deputy ridin' with 'em. Well, wegot him anyway an' two or three of th' others. But then they called in th'army, an' we had to ride for it. Scattered so they had more'n one trail tofollow. But they posted us as 'wanted' back there. So I come whippin' amighty tired hoss outta Texas, an' I ain't plannin' on goin' back to anyFifth Military District!"
"Any chance they'll push a star after you here?"
"No. I'm jus' small stuff, not worth botherin' 'bout by their reckonin',now I ain't got anythin' left them buzzards can pick offen m' bones.They's sittin' tight an' gittin' fat right there."
"Then it's all set." Drew tossed Anse a towel. "Climb out and we'll getstarted!"
"Doin what?"
"You've worked horses, and they can use another wrangler on the Range.Right now they've a lot to be topped--want to gentle 'em some and trade 'emsouth into Mexico. If you ride for _Don_ Cazar, nobody's goin' to ask toomany questions."
"How d'you know he'll sign me on?" Anse studied his own unkempt if nowclean reflection in the shaving mirror on the wall. "I sure don't looklike no bargain."
"You will when we're through with you," Drew began. The Texan swungaround.
"Looky here, you thinkin' of grub stakin'? I ain't gonna--"
"Suppose you had yourself a stack of cart wheels and my pockets were tolet?" Drew retorted. "I think I remember me some times when we had oneblanket and a hunk of hardtack between us, and there weren't any 'yours'or 'mine' about it! Or don't you think back that far?"
Anse laughed. "All right, _compadre_, pretty me up like a new stake ropeon a thirty-dollar pony. If I don't agree, likely you'll trip up m'foreleg an' reshoe me anyway. Right now--I'll say it out good'n clear--I'mso pore m' backbone rattles when I cough."
"Mistuh Kirby--" Hamilcar came in. "Mistuh Nye says to tell you he'll beback. Mistuh Shannon's in bed at th' doctuh's; he's gonna be all rightsoon's he gets ovah a mighty big headache."
He had actually forgotten Shannon! Hastily Drew expressed his satisfactionat the news and added:
"This is my cousin from Texas, Hamilcar. He hit town ridin' light. I'mgoin' over to pick him up a new outfit at Stein's. You give him all therest, will you?"
"Yes, suh."
Blue blouses--a corporal's guard of troopers--were pulling up by the cantinahitch rail as Drew came out into the plaza. Muller's men probably, hethought. But now he was more intent on Anse's needs.
Few people had ever broken through the crust of self-sufficiency theKentuckian had begun to grow in early childhood. His grandfather's bitterhatred of his father had made Drew an outsider at Red Springs from birthand had finally driven him away to join General Morgan in '62. Those hehad ever cared about he could list on the fingers of one sun-browned,rein-hardened hand: Cousin Meredith; her son Shelly--he had died atChickamauga between one short breath and the next--Shelly's younger brotherBoyd, who had run away to join Morgan, too, in the sunset of the raider'scareer; and Anse, whom he had believed dead until this past hour.
Drew was breathing as fast as if he had charged across the sun-baked plazaat a run, when he came into the general store which supplied Tubacca withnine-tenths of the materials necessary for frontier living. He made hisselection with care.
"You planning a trip, Mister Kirby?" Stein peered at him over a pair ofold-fashioned, steel-bowed spectacles which perched on his sharp parrot'sbeak of a nose.
"No. My cousin just rode in; he lost his gear on the road and needs a newoutfit complete."
Stein nodded, patted smooth the top shirt on a growing pile. "Anythingelse?"
"Add those up. I'll look around." Drew paused to glance into the singlesmall, glass-fronted case which was Stein's claim to fame in thesurrounding territory.
The exotic wares on display were a strange mixture:a few pieces of jewelry, heavy Spanish things which might be a century ormore old, several six-guns--one with an ornate ivory handle.... Drewstopped and pulled a finger across the dusty surface of the glass case.Spurs--silver spurs--not quite so elaborate as those he now wore, but of thesame general workmanship.
"I'd like to look at those spurs."
Stein unlocked the case and took them out. As Drew unstrapped those hewore and fitted the new pair to his boots, a brown, calf-bound bookthudded to the floor. Books--here in Stein's?
Weighing the volume in his hand, the Kentuckian straightened up. Therewere two more books lying on the top of the case. The leather bindingswere scuffed and one was scored clear across the back, yet they had beenhandsome, undoubtedly treasured. Drew turned them up to read the scrolledgold titles on their spines.
"_History of the Conquest of Mexico_, _The Three Musketeers,__ The Countof Monte Cristo_ ... Where'd these come from, Mister Stein?" Drew'scuriosity was aroused.
"That is a story almost as fanciful as the ones inside them." Stein restedhis bony elbows on the counter as he talked. "Would you believe, MisterKirby, these were brought to me by Amos Lutterfield?"
"Lutterfield? Who's he?"
"I forget, you have not been in Tubacca long. Amos Lutterfield--he is whatone might term a character, a strange one. He goes out into the wildsalone, seeking always the gold."
"In Apache country?" Drew demanded.
"The Apaches, they do not touch a man they believe insane, and Amos hasmany peculiarities: peculiarities of dress, of speech, of action. He roamsundisturbed, sometimes coming in with relics from the old cliff houses totrade for supplies. Last month he told me a story of a cave where he founda trunk. Where it had come from or why it was hidden he did not know, butthese books were in it. Like some men who have no formal education, Amosis highly respectful of the printed word. He thought the books of greatvalue and so brought them here."
Drew opened the top volume. Back home books as well bound as these wouldhave carried a personal bookplate or at least the written name of theowner, but the fly leaf was bare. They had the look of well-read,cherished volumes but no mark of possession.
"You have perhaps read these?" Stein asked.
Drew picked up _The Three Musketeers_. "Not likely to forget this one," hesaid, grinning. "Earned me a good ten with the cane when I read it insteadof dealing faithfully with Caesar's campaigns in Gaul. I did get to finishit before I was caught out." The pages separated stiffly under hisexploring fingers as if the volume had not been opened for a long time. Hedid not notice that Stein was eyeing him with new appraisal.
"These for sale?"
"In Stein's everything is for sale." The storekeeper named a price, andDrew bargained. When he left, the three books reposed on the top of hisarmload of clothing, and a half hour later he dropped them down on acantina table. Anse came from the bathhouse and sat down in the oppositechair. His booted foot moved, but now rowel points flashed in the sun. TheTexan regarded the Mexican spurs joyfully, stooped to jingle them with hisfinger tip.
"Can't believe it ... how they came back to you," he marveled. "One ofthem 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 gentlebroke a wild one none o' th' other boys could back. Was I turkey-cockproud th' first day I rode into town with 'em playin' pretty tunes, eventhough I strapped 'em on over boots as was only three pieces of leatherhangin' to each other restless like. Yeah, Pa, he got 'em in the MexicanWar, an' me, I wore 'em mostly through this past ruckus. They's sure seena 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 andregarded them attentively. Stein's story of their origin--out of a trunkhidden in a desert cave--was most intriguing. What else had been in thattrunk?
"Anse," he asked, "why would anyone hide a trunk in a cave?" "Might dependon 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. "_TheThree 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 ofprime 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 openthe pages eagerly.
"No, the earlier one--when the Spanish came in under Cortes and broke upthe 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' BibleMa brought long when she was married. T'other--that sure was kinda queerhow we got that. Pa was in th' Rangers, an' he had this run-in with someComanches--" Anse's eyes were suddenly bleak, and Drew remembered the fewstark sentences the Texan had once spoken to explain his reason for beingin the army--a return to a frontier ranch to find nothing left, nothing hewanted to remember, after the Comanches had swept across the countryside.
"Well," Anse broke that short pause, "Pa shot him one big buck as wasridin' straight into th' Ranger line, wantin' to count one o' them coupsby whangin' some white man personal with his lance, or some suchfoolishness. This buck had him a war shield an' Pa picked it up when allth' 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' frontan' back layers of hide. Th' boys in th' company, they got rightinterested 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 couldread good an' write an' figger. He sure liked to read, so he claimed thatthere book when it was all tied up together agin--'cause he shot th' buckas 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 aginafterward?" He gazed beyond Drew's shoulder into the world outside thecantina door.
"Why would anyone want to store books in a trunk in a cave?" Drew changedthe subject quickly to break that unseeing stare. He outlined what Steinhad 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 littleaddled. Maybe someone was storin' stuff, hopin' to come back when the warwas over. Anyway, there's no way to identify the owner or owners--"
Anse picked up _The Three Musketeers_. "You say this is good--'boutfightin' an' such?"
Drew nodded. "Try it ..."
"Somethin' like this is good t' have. A hombre gits tired readin' labelson cans. I'd like to see how much Pa pushed into m' thick head. Goodcoverin' this book has. Wouldn't you say as th' hombre that had it waskinda 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 Anseheld and _The Count of Monte Cristo_. "They were written by the sameauthor and could have been part of a matched set. But this one is on atotally different subject and by another writer--Prescott. Yet it isuniformly bound to match the others. I'd say they came from the personallibrary 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 thiscantina!"
The table moved an inch or so as a thick body brought up with a ru
shagainst it. A hand, matted with sun-bleached hair, made a grab for thebook Drew had just laid down. Before the startled Kentuckian could pull itback from that grasp, hand and book were gone, and the trooper who hadtaken it was reeling back to the bar, waving the trophy over his head.
"Schoolhouse ... right here ..." he mouthed. "Sittin' there ... two li'lboys, studyin' their lessons. Now, ain't that somethin'?"
A chair went over with a crash. Anse was on his feet, had taken two stepsin the direction of the soldier. Drew jumped after him, trying to assessthe situation even as his hand closed restrainingly on the Texan'sshoulder.
There were four troopers. Wide grins on the faces of the three stillagainst the bar suggested they were ready to back their companion in anyform of horseplay he intended to try.
"Sam, one o' them thar schoolboys is breathin' down yore neck kinda hotlike," 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 suddenlytwice as noticeable.
Sam reached up against the bar, squirmed around, the book still in hishand.
"Wal, now, sonny, you ain't really wantin' this here book back? Neverknowed any li'l boy what warn't glad to see th' last o' a book. Better gitaway 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 stillgrinning, 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 ofthem kids had been sayin' as how he rode with Forrest, regular li'lred-hot Reb, he is. Stomp all over us ... that's what you Rebs has beenpromisin' to do, ain't it? Gonna stomp all over any Blue Bellies as comesinto 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 speakerlurched from the bar straight for him. What had happened, how this hadsprung up out of nothing, the Kentuckian could not understand. But he knewwell that he was under an attack delivered with a purpose, and with allthe dirty tricks of a no-rules, back-alley fighter.
