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Of course he had seen very little of Hunt Rennie at the Stronghold; his father had ridden south on patrol with his own private posse shortly after his own arrival there. But whenever Drew thought seriously of the future he had that odd sense of dislocation and loss which he had first known on the night he had seen Don Cazar arrive at the cantina. Don Cazar—Hunt Rennie. Drew Kirby—Drew Rennie.
"Not breaking," Drew corrected, "training. It is another method altogether. One puts a weanling on a rope halter, accustoms him to the feel of the hackamore, of being with men. Then he grows older knowing no fear or strangeness." The Mexican looked from Drew to Don Cazar, his shock fading to puzzlement. Rennie nodded. "Sí, amigo, so it is done—in Kentucky and Virginia.
There was no reason in the wide world why Don Cazar should expect him to be anyone except Drew Kirby. "Yes, suh. Didn’t have anythin’ to go back to there. Thought I’d try for a new start out here." There was the story of several thousand veterans. Rennie should have heard it a good many times already. "Well, come and try some blue-grass training on our colts.
"In this territory, even in Sonora, there are none to compare with the horses of this hacienda." "That is not what I was about to say, Señor Rivas. But if Don Cazar wishes to try the eastern methods of training, these horses are too old. You begin with a yearling colt, not three-year-olds." "To break a foal! What madness!" Now Bartolomé’s face expressed shock.
The boy lunged against Drew’s pinioning arm. "Now he says we are horse thieves! Tell that to us before the Don Cazar!" Shannon curled the quirt lash about his wrist. "Don’t think I won’t, Mex! don’t like havin’ his colt crop whittled down. You—" Those blue eyes, brilliant, yet oddly shallow and curtained, met Drew’s for the second time.
When th’ army pulled out, th’ Apaches got it into their heads as how they finally licked us good an’ proper an’ this here was their country fur th’ takin’. Nearly was, too. "Then th’ Rebs got up on their high horse an’ said as how iffen Don Cazar warn’t with ’em, then he was agin ’em, an’ they would jus’ move in on him. He tol’ ’em to go ahead an’ try.
An imperative wave of the hand brought him to join Don Cazar and to discover Anse already there, rolling his bed. For a second or two Drew blinked—the occupation fitted in too well with their worries of the night before. But Hunt Rennie was already explaining. "Teodoro tells me that they’ve found traces of shod horses being driven back in the canyons.
"Me, I’ve been trailin’ round this here country since th’ moon was two-bit size. An’ I ain’t set my moccasins on all o’ it yet. Thar’s parts maybe even an Injun ain’t seed neither. You jus’ outta th’ army, son?" Drew nodded. Apparently he could not escape that part of his past, and there was no reason to deny it. "Iffen you be huntin’ a job—Don Cazar, he’s always ready to hire on wagon guards.
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.
Do I take you along there ain’t goin’ to be no trailin’, none ’tall—do they want Don Cazar to keep on breathing regular. Git them hands up, high!" With all the force he could summon Drew kicked at Johnny’s crouching body. Shannon cried out—there was a shot. Then Johnny cried again, this time with a choke cutting off the word as he arched convulsively against the boulder.
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