United States or Russia ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
And how in the immensity of this hostile country, they could fulfill Topham’s hopes and lead the troop patrol to Rennie’s posse, was something the Kentuckian did not even try to answer. The border lay south.
Rennie had said it plain that he did not want Drew and Anse on the Range. "Running never settled anything." Rennie’s fingers traced the spread of the candelabra’s arms. "Neither does jumping to conclusions. Has anyone said you were through here, unless by your own choice?" Drew was jarred into an answer. "You said——" Rennie sighed.
You had your sleep out, boy?" Drew found Rennie’s expression one of indifference. Maybe Don Cazar no longer regarded him with the cold dislike Drew had met at the camp, but they were still strangers. What he had once said back in Kentucky at a remote and distant time was very true now.
"That doesn’t matter now—as the lieutenant and Captain Bayliss have pointed out—if my only proof is in Kentucky and out of reach." "I suppose you have heard of telegraphs?" Rennie’s sarcasm was cold. "Communication with Kentucky is not so impossible as you appear to think. You give me a name and address—or names and addresses—and I’ll do the rest.
That was Rennie’s Range—cultivated fields, fruit orchards, manadas of fine horses. Don Cazar supplied Tucson and the army posts with vegetables and superb hams. He had organized a matchless company of Pima Indian Scouts after the army pulled out in ’61, had fought Apaches, but had sided with neither Union nor Confederate forces.
But, as Rennie turned away, he broke through the mist of confusion which seemed to be enclosing him more tightly than the walls of the cell. "Shannon. Where’s Shannon?" Hunt Rennie’s head swung around. "What about Johnny?" he demanded. "He took my papers—out of my belt!" This was probably the worst thing he could do, to accuse Johnny Shannon without proof.
Drew’s bay snorted, took a dance step or two to the right as if it had picked up sudden tension from the men. "What’s up?" Anse pushed back his hat, turned up a corner of his neckerchief, and swabbed the lower half of his sweating face. "Rennie’s back." Drew watched León hurry to take the buckboard reins, watched Hunt Rennie give a hand to Johnny.
Drew could not while there was a chance that Anse might find the papers or make Johnny Shannon admit taking them. The Kentuckian could not tell Hunt Rennie who he was here and now. "I want to talk to Anse," he said out of his own thoughts. "I’ve got to talk to Anse!" "He’s gone." Rennie’s two words did not make sense at first. When they did, Drew jumped up and caught at the bars. "Gone? Where?"
"Lissen here"—Anse rode so close their spurs were near to hitting—"you sure you got hold of th’ right end of th’ runnin’ iron now?" "What do you mean?" "Well, ’bout Shannon. You heard what Fenner said—Rennie’s like a pa to him. An’ maybe ..." His voice died away. "And maybe that’s that? He has my place, and it’s really his now?" Drew asked bleakly. "Could be."
In the light Drew could not see his expression, but his voice was that of a completely baffled man. "Rennie?" "I’m Hunt Rennie’s son." There, he had said it—and nothing startling happened. Well, what had he expected—a clap of thunder, a bolt of lightning, the sudden appearance of a cavalry patrol across the nearest hilltop? "So that’s it!" Topham said slowly. "And Shannon suspected?
Word Of The Day