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Rennie’s foster son was now riding inspection between one water-hole fortification and another. But Drew was uncertain just how he would rub along with Shannon in the future. "Señor Kirby, Don Cazarhe would speak with you in the Casa Grande," León Rivas called through one of the patio side windows. "Coming." Drew left the huddle of his possessions on the bunk.

Only, Drew suddenly knew, Johnny was going to keep him. He saw the gun hand shift against the rockJohnny was taking aim into the pocket. Why? By trusting to Rennie’s word he would have a slim chance, so why spoil it by some treachery? "All right, Johnny, it’s ready for you." "Now you git them hands up, Rennie. Sorta guessed you’d come yourself. I’m gittin’ out, all right.

Maybe later he could come to a decision about his action. But first he wanted to be sure. There might well be no place for a Drew Rennie in Hunt Rennie’s present life. They were total strangers and perhaps it must be left that way. There was no reason for him to claim the kinship. He was independent. Drew Kirby had a mule and two good horses, maybe three by tomorrow.

If Kitchell had made such a sweeping raid, he would be certain to run the animals in that direction, for the outlaw was fully aware of Rennie’s reputation and temper, and knew that Don Cazar would trail him with set determination. This meant the outlaw must have set up some plan for avoiding pursuit. Rouse the Apaches? Or prepare an ambush? Either could work.

For the first time Drew realized what he had doneblown Rennie’s carefully planned trap sky-high. His shot at the Pinto must have been warning enough for the fugitives. But why were they trying to make a fight of it now, when to cut and run would have been the smartest move? Unless, having seen only one man, they believed he was alone. He tried to rub the dust from his eyes and think coherently.

Now here Drew was, half the continent away from Gainesville and Tennessee, wearing Anse’s spurs and half of Anse’s nameto find a father he had not known was still alive, until last year. The Kentuckian was sure of only one thing right now, he was not going to enter a town or a stretch of country where Hunt Rennie was the big man, and claim to be Rennie’s unknown son.

"Why do I stay, suh?" Anse protested when Don Cazar had finished. "You can tend that arm better on the ground than in the saddle." "Ain’t no hurt there any more." Anse hurriedly pulled it from the sling. "Anyways, that ain’t m’ shootin’ hand, neither!" But one look at Hunt Rennie’s face reduced him to muttering. Drew watched their preparations quietly.

It was difficult, one of the most difficult things he had ever 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 alonewant 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 than yours.

Do you think you can do it?" "A man can’t tell what he can do until he tries." Drew still hedged. There was a trace of frown now between Rennie’s brows. "You told Topham you wanted work." His tone implied that he found Drew’s present hesitancy odd. Andfrom Don Cazar’s point of viewit was.

Then he gathered up two canteens and filled them at the water hole, went back to loop their carry straps over Hunt Rennie’s saddle horn. Anse had a bad arm, so it was right that he should not go chasing hell-for-leather over rough country. But Drew Renniehe was left because he was useless in another way.