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Drew sat up on a bunk shell of board holding straw, and rested his head between his hands. He could follow the action which had brought him here, trace it back almost minute by minute over the past three days. How he had come here was plain enough; why was another matter. Lieutenant Spath, back in the mustangers’ camp, might have accepted the Kentuckian’s story.
Got Old Tar when he turned up in a wild-hoss corral th’ mustangers set over in th’ Red River country—" "I saw him when you rode into town. Good-lookin’ animal." Crow Fenner nodded vigorously. "Shore is, shore is. Don Cazar, he’s partial to good stock—favors Tar, too. Th’ Don has him a high-steppin’ hoss every hoss thief in this here territory’d like to run off. Bright yaller—" "Saw that one, too.
Drew was striving to keep a reasonable tone, to find an answer which must pierce through Bayliss’ rancor. After all, Bayliss could not have held his present rank and station so long and been all hot-headed plunger. "What was this so-important message Rennie had to have delivered to a camp of Mex mustangers?" Bayliss bored in.
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.
So Drew and Anse joined the mustangers’ hunting. To Anse this was something he had done before. Drew remembered that the Texan had been working with just such a hunting party when his family had been wiped out by the Comanches in ’59. But to Drew it was a new experience and he was deeply intrigued by what he saw and the reasons for such action.
The next and last time we rounded up the stock horses I left the wilder ones alone, and gave a contract to some professional mustangers to gather them at so much per head. These men never attempt to run them down. They "walk" them down. A light wagon, two mules to pull it, lots of grain, some water and supplies, are what you need.
Sí, we have danger—but a man can also die in his bed in the midst of a village with strong walls. And to everyone his own way of life. Now we ride...." They did indeed ride, following a trail which, as far as Drew could see, existed only in the minds of the mustangers. But the three Mexicans swung along so confidently that he and Anse joined without question or argument.
There were troopers down there, all right. The Trinfans sat on their saddles while an officer walked up and down before them. Running Fox put a finger on Drew’s arm and motioned to the left. The horses of the mustangers were browsing in a small dell, their night hobbles unloosed. Together the trio moved in that direction.
The fact that Rennie’s plan seemed a gamble did not make it any easier to follow. But the 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 his weariness hit—hard. Fatigue was a gray cloud in his brain, a weight on arms, legs, body.
The mustangers were well known in this district and could prove their reason for being where they were found. And Kitchell had raided one of their corrals last season, so they had no possible tie with the elusive outlaw. Probably by now the Trinfans had returned to their hunt for the Pinto.
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