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Tubacca was still in a slump; the rest of the valley held about as many jobs for a man as Drew had fingers on one hand. The Range was the big holding, and to ride there meant security and an established position in the community. Also, perhaps it was not an offer lightly made to an unknown newcomer. "I can’t promise you blue-grass training, suh. That has to begin with a foal."
Yes, it could well be that this was a good time to bow out. Maybe he should not have ridden out of Tubacca at all.
Had he been right in his fear that Johnny had not been unconscious back in Tubacca, that he had caught Anse’s greeting? Rennie was not too common a name, but he did not see how Johnny could possibly have hit upon the truth. What if he had, though? To Johnny, Drew could loom as a threat. He might be baffled as to why the Kentuckian had not made a move to claim kinship with Hunt.
"I cud shtart a pipe shap, Con, fur be th' first strake ov dawn I found five new pipes an' five half ounces ov tubacca inside th' doore ov th' sty!" "Take this bit too. Avic, ye don't come ofen," and he gave him a small package and took his departure. Eliza Conlon brought a cup of tea. Without even looking in, she pushed the little door ajar, laid it just inside, and went away without a word.
"From Eastern ... Texas—" That much was true. All three animals had been given the brand in the small Texas town where the wagon train had assembled. And perhaps this was the time when he should begin building up the background one Drew Kirby must present to Tubacca, Arizona Territory. "All right, I’ll go eat." He picked up his saddlebags. "You’ll call me if——" "Sure, son.
Drew was breathing as fast as if he had charged across the sun-baked plaza at a run, when he came into the general store which supplied Tubacca with nine-tenths of the materials necessary for frontier living. He made his selection with care. "You planning a trip, Mister Kirby?"
The shield split down the middle, revealing shelves of metal boxes and packets of papers. Drew unfastened his money belt and handed it over. As he was tucking his shirt in his belt once more the gambler nodded at the cupboard. "This is about as near a bank as we boast in Tubacca.
Hay to sleep on was fine; he had had far worse beds during the past four years. But a hot bath to be followed by a meal which was not the jerky, corn meal, bitter coffee of trail cooking! His pace quickened into a trot but slackened again as he neared the Four Jacks and remembered all the precautions he must take in Tubacca. In the big room of the cantina oil lamps made yellow pools of light.
"Don’t know," Drew replied absently. Better leave that decision to Nye; he knew the country and the situation. "You ask about the cart, Callie, but don’t make it definite. Have to see how things turn out." Drew started for the Four Jacks to meet Nye. Back here in Tubacca he was conscious how much he had allowed his personal affairs to drift from day to day.
Drew’s curiosity was aroused. "That is a story almost as fanciful as the ones inside them." Stein rested his bony elbows on the counter as he talked. "Would you believe, Mister Kirby, 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 what one might term a character, a strange one.
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