Rebel Spurs

by Andre Norton

  16

  "Now that you have that bucked out, how about a little sound reasoning?"Hunt Rennie still held his position, riding stirrup to stirrup with Drew.

  The worst of it was, _Don_ Cazar was right. This was no time for rawemotion to replace thinking. Already it was almost dusk and their quarrycould not be traced into the dark, even if they had the aid of a fullmoon. The Kentuckian reined in. Growing shadows masked the countryahead--rough territory--which he did not doubt the fugitives knew far betterthan he did.

  "All right." It was difficult, one of the most difficult things he hadever done, to admit even that much that he must follow Rennie's lead."What do I do now?"

  "You still think you can go it alone--want to?" Rennie's face was shadowed,and his voice again held that remote note.

  "It's my horse." Drew was defensive.

  "Stolen on my range," Rennie retorted. "This is far more my fight thanyours. If we didn't get Kitchell back there at the pass, and I'm inclinedto believe that we did not, then I want him! You don't kill a rattler bycutting off his rattles--you go for the head. But this rattler's on hishome land and he knows where to hole up. We have only one card to playagainst him."

  "What's that, suh?"

  "Water. Oh, I know all the rumors that the Apaches have secret water holesback in the hills, and they may have introduced Kitchell to some of them.But the hills are behind him. He'll want just one thing now, to get south,across the border. He's lost a large number of his men, probably all ofhis loot, back there at the pass. He can't hold out here any longer. Oncehe's into Sonora we can't touch him--I know he has friends down there."

  "Could he try to take the wagon road south?"

  "As a last resort, perhaps. The pass was the only outlet through which hecould run that band of stolen horses and his pack mules. But there areother places, at least two I know of, where a few men, riding light, canget through. I believe he'll try to head for one of those."

  "Make it ahead of us now?"

  Rennie laughed shortly. "If he does, he'll have a warm reception. ThePimas are already scouting both passes. We planned to close the borderwhen we set up that ambush. Meanwhile"--he glanced back--"Teodoro!"

  "_Si, Don_ Cazar?"

  "How far are we from your hunting-camp site?"

  "Two, maybe three miles. Slow riding in the dark, _Don_ Cazar."

  "We'll head there. That--except for the hole behind us which Bartolome willcover--is the only water for miles. And we're between Kitchell and theborder spring. One thing he will have to have is water. We stake out thepools and sooner or later they will come to us."

  It made sense, but still Drew was impatient. Out there one of Kitchell'smen, or perhaps the outlaw himself, was riding Shiloh. The fact thatRennie's plan seemed a gamble did not make it any easier to follow. Butthe Kentuckian could think of nothing better to offer.

  The moon was rising as they came to the water hole near the mustangers'camp. Men and animals drank together, and when Drew dismounted hisweariness hit--hard. Fatigue was a gray cloud in his brain, a weight onarms, legs, body. Voices around him sounded faint and far away as hesteadied himself with a grasp on the stirrup leathers and fought not onlyto keep on his feet but awake.

  "What's the matter with you, boy?"

  Drew tried to lift his head, tried to summon words to answer that demand.A sullen kind of pride made him release his hold and stand away from thebay, only to reel back and bring up hard against a rock, grating his armpainfully. He clung there for a moment and got out:

  "Nothing a little sleep won't cure." He spoke into the dark outline ofHunt Rennie. "I'm all right."

  Drew made a painful effort, pulled himself away from the rock to fumble atthe cinches of the bay's saddle, only to be pushed aside.

  "Steer him over there, Perse ... bed him down."

  The Kentuckian's last scrap of protest leaked away. He hardly knew when ablanket was pulled up over him as he lay in a rock niche, already driftinginto deep sleep.

  Voices awoke him into the gray of early morning. The light was hardlybrighter than moonlight but he could make out Hunt Rennie, sittingcross-legged, rifle to hand, while Chino Herrera squatted on his heelsbefore him. Chino had not been with them when they left the pass. Andthere was Greyfeather, too. Their party had had reinforcements. Drewpushed away the blanket and sat up, realizing he was stiff with cold. Fire... hot coffee ... there was no sign of either. He yawned and jerked hiscoat straight about him. His attention suddenly focused on an object whichlay on the ground at Chino's left. It was a book, the same size as thethree he had bought at Stein's!

  Without thinking, Drew moved forward, was about to reach for the volumewhen he heard the click of a cocked Colt. A hand swept down on the book.

  "You, hombre--what do you want with this?" Herrera, with no friendliness ineither voice or eyes, was holding a gun on him.

  "That book--it looks like the ones I bought in town." Drew was startled bythe vaquero's enmity.

  "Give it to him," Rennie ordered.

  For a moment Herrera seemed on the point of open dispute, then he obeyed.But for some reason his weapon remained unholstered. Drew took up thevolume.

  "_History of the Conquest of Peru_," he read out. The binding was a matchfor that of the other three. But--there _was_ something different. Heweighed the volume in his hand. That was it! This book was heavier....

  "Well, hombre, you have seen such a one before?"

  "Yes, this is bound to match those I bought from Stein. And one of thosewas _History of the Conquest of Mexico_. This is surely a part of the samelibrary."

  "Those--what did they have in them?"

  Rennie appeared content to let Chino ask the questions, but he continuedto watch Drew and the book.

  "Have in them?" Drew repeated. "Why pages. They were books to read--_TheThree Musketeers_, _The Count of Monte Cristo_, and _History of theConquest of Mexico_. That's all, just books."

  "Open this one," Rennie told him.

  The Kentuckian had trouble obeying. And for the first time he saw he didnot hold a book composed of pages but a type of box. The cover resistedhis tugging. Then, as if some catch had been mastered, it opened sosuddenly he almost lost his grip on the book. The core of those onceseparate pages had been hollowed out to contain a nest of raw cotton onwhich lay ... The Kentuckian gasped.

  Even in this subdued light those stones glittered, and their settings weregold and silver. Drew saw elaborate pieces, the like of which he had neverseen before.

  "There was a mule shot back in the pass," Rennie explained. "His pack wasopened. Three books were in it--one of them fell out and burst open."

  "This one?"

  "No, it held gold coin. _Hard Times_ by Charles Dickens--the contentshardly indicative of the subject, were they? Upon investigation a _Wondersof the World_ produced more coin. And, as you see, _History of theConquest of Peru_ was even more fruitful. You are sure this bindingmatches that of the books you bought?"

  "Certain. This was bound to order, as were the other three. They were partof someone's personal library--had no bookplate, though."

  "And what was Stein's story concerning them?"

  "An old prospector named Lutterfield found them in a trunk in some cave helocated out in the desert country. He brought them in to trade forsupplies."

  "Lutterfield," Rennie repeated thoughtfully. "Yes, that could be."

  "Trunk in a cave?" Herrera was skeptical. "But why leave books in a trunkin a cave?"

  "One of Kitchell's caches? Or else left by someone who cleared out in '61and had to travel light. If anything remains, perhaps Lutterfield canlocate it for us later. Anyway this"--Rennie took the book box from Drew,clapped the cover over, hiding the treasure--"won't go to Mexico now. Andif the owner is still alive, we may even find him--who knows? You had yoursleep out, boy?"

  Drew found Rennie's expression one of indifference. Maybe _Don_ Cazar nolonger regarded him with the cold dislike Drew had met at the camp, butthey were still strangers. What he had once sai
d back in Kentucky at aremote and distant time was very true now. "Maybe Hunt Rennie doesn't knowI exist; maybe we won't even like each other if and when we do meet ... Idon't know...."

  Now Drew thought he did know. Was this insurmountable barrier all hisfault? Because he had been so sure he wanted to go it on his own--come tohis father as an equal and not a beggar? But could he ever have acteddifferently? Too independent, too defensive always--Alexander Mattock hadmade him like that. Now it seemed that his grandfather had won, after all.Because his grandson was the kind of man he was, there would be no meetingwith Hunt Rennie to claim kinship, nothing more than what now existed.

  "I'm all right." After too long a pause, Drew replied to his father'squestion. "Do we just keep on sittin' here?"

  "If necessary, Chino, pass those supplies you brought in. We eat cold, atleast for now."

  "You look ready to up saddle 'n ride." Anse was waiting behind Drew'srock. His arm rested in a sling with a neat and reasonably clean bandageabout his wound.

  "How's that hole?" Drew asked with renewed concern.

  "Nothin' much more'n a nick. Say, th' Old Man's like a real doc, ain't he?Carries doc's things in his saddlebags an' patched me up last night so I'mnear as good as new. After I drunk th' wrinkles smooth outta my belly an'had me some shut-eye, why, I'm as right as four aces in any man's hand!'Course I sure could do with some coffee--'bout strong 'nough to float ahoss shoe gentle like. But we ain't bendin' lip over that this sunup.Lordy, this jerky sure gives a man's chewers a workout!"

  They chewed away at the dark sun-dried _carne_ of the border country.There was about as much flavor in it as in a piece of wood, but it kept aman's insides busy and about half satisfied. And they did have water.

  Drew looked out over the land about them. Rennie had their small forcestationed to cover every approach to the water hole, and with the Pimashere too, Drew was sure that they would not be surprised. Would Kitchellfollow the pattern Rennie expected--try to water here? And then strike forthe south? With his men scattered, many killed or taken at the pass, hehad very little choice.

  For some reason the quartet of fugitives must have been trailing quite adistance behind the main band, and so had been warned in time by thegunfire. Was one of that four Shannon? And what would it mean to Rennie ifShannon did turn up now with Kitchell?

  Drew jerked back against the boulder, reacting to a screech from somewhereout in that wild country--a fierce, mad sound which tore at the nerves. Hehad heard its like before, but never rising so to the pitch of rawintensity. It was the challenge of a fighting stallion, one of the mostterrifying sounds ever to break from the throat of an animal.

  From the pocket meadow came the answering squeals of their own mounts, thepounding of hoofs as they fought their stake ropes.

  "_Don_ Cazar!" It was Teodoro. "The Pinto comes--and would fight!"

  Again that shriek of rage and utter defiance. The rocks echoed it eerily,and Drew found it hard to judge either distance or direction. The wind wasrising, too, scooping up dust to throw against men and boulders. But thatwild stud could not be too far away, and what had stirred him to thispoint of vocal outburst?

  "Teodoro," Rennie called, "get back there and see if you can quiet thosehorses."

  Drew reached for the carbine he had taken from the boot on the saddle ofthe captured bay. Army issue ... Spencer. He appraised it with the sharp,quick scrutiny of a man who had had to depend on enemy weapons before.Just how had this fallen into outlaw hands? The arm was well kept, readyfor action.

  Horses turned mean, turned man-killer at times. And the Pinto was reputedto be a murderer of his own species. Not just content to protect his bandfrom a raiding stallion, he actually went out of his way to seek and forcea fight with other males. Could it be that now the wild killer had beendrawn from hiding to meet a strange stallion?

  And could that stranger be Shiloh? It would mean the men they sought werecircling back to this water hole. Shiloh and the Pinto! Even when saddledand ridden, the Kentucky stallion might respond to the challenge. And sohandicapped he would have no chance! Drew bit hard on his underlip.

  The yap-yap of a coyote sounded brazenly from the ridge behind which Drewwas almost certain the Pinto had trumpeted.

  "Pass the word," said Rennie. "Riders coming."

  Anse hissed it on to Donally, who hid in the brush behind. Drew lay tense,as if his whole body was able to listen and assess sounds.

  Waiting, as always, fretted the nerves. Imagination gave birth to sounds,made the quiver of a bush unnatural, planted in a man a growing sense ofeyes boring down on his body, nakedly visible to the enemy. Drew's musclesached. He forced tight rein on his imagination and began the hard task ofconsciously schooling himself past the danger of a freeze when and ifattack did come.

  Wind moaning about the rocks, sand blown in eyes and face. Twice Drew halfput out his hand to the canteen which lay between him and Anse. Both timeshe did not complete the reach. His tongue felt swollen, the saliva in hismouth sticky, sickly tasting.

  No sun--this was going to be a cloudy, overcast day.

  He half arose. That scream came again, this time closer, more rage-filled.Drew turned his head.

  "Cover me!" He did not give Anse a chance to protest.

  That slope ... he had been studying it carefully for long moments of thewait, gauging the distances between bits of cover, the tricky open spaceshe would have to cross. But the riders they had been alerted to expectwere not in sight, and if what he truly believed was about to happen did,the outlaws might never reach the water hole at all.

  He was running, dodging, working his way up to the crown of the ridge. Buthe was still too low to see what was going on at the far side when thatscream of challenge was answered. The answer was deeper in tone, but itcarried with it the same rising note of anger and fighting promise.Although Drew had never seen Shiloh prepare to give battle, he was sure hehad just heard him voice such readiness.

  The Kentuckian flung himself flat before he reached the skyline, wrigglingon in a desperate crawl. Then he lay panting in a small earth dip, only aragged fringe of grass between him and the down slope.

  Even in the swirl of wind-blown dust there was no mistaking Shiloh--rearingand fighting to dislodge his rider, wheeling about in a circle. Threeother horses and their riders had edged well beyond the circumference ofthat circle, the horses neighing and snorting.

  The squeal of the Pinto was ear-wrenching, though as yet the killer studhad not appeared in plain sight. The cry triggered Shiloh into a fantasticeffort. He reared, striking out with front hoofs, perhaps in an effort tokeep his balance. Drew fully expected to see him crash over and back.

  Apparently his rider feared the same fall. In the dusty murk the manseparated from the horse. Shiloh whirled and pounded back, away from hisrider, and as he went he voiced once more his answer to the Pinto.

  Drew sighted a dark spot moving in to intercept the gray. Then the spotturned broadside and he appreciated what had made the Pinto so elusive tohunters. The mottled red-and-white patches of the wild stud's coat meltedinto the landscape in an uncanny fashion, making the horse seem to appearand disappear as he trotted back and forth.

  The Kentuckian tried to bring the Spencer in line with that weaving,distorted barrel of spotted body. What was the range? Too far, he wasafraid, for a shot to count. But he knew that he could not lie there andwatch the Pinto cut down Shiloh in one of those vicious, deadly, equineduels. The Kentucky horse had no fighting experience, and his greater bulkand height would mean little against the wily cunning of the murderer whohad already tasted blood too many times. To allow Shiloh to be ripped topieces was utterly unthinkable.

  The men down there no longer mattered. Drew rose to one knee, steadied thecarbine, and fired.

  Did the Pinto really flinch from a bullet striking home? Or had thedangerous sound of gunfire caused his old caution to win out for aninstant over his blood lust? The red head with the dangling white forelocktossed, and then the wild horse whirled and
ran. Shiloh, teeth bared,ready and willing to come to battle, followed....

  Drew was on his feet. Then he was pulled backward by a jerk out ofnowhere, and he fell under a brown, mostly bare body which pinned himfirmly to the ground.