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Updated: June 1, 2025
Heard tell as how there’s a custom of the country that a slick this old can be branded and claimed by anyone bringing him in. I wasn’t going to lose him that way should he do any straying, accidental or intentional." Don Cazar laughed. "That’s using your head, Kirby. All right. It’s a deal as far as I’m concerned. You draw wrangler’s pay and take stud fees in foals—say one in three, your choosing.
Drew disregarded the lieutenant’s comments—Rennie was the one who mattered. And in that moment the Kentuckian knew that he had made a fatal mistake. Why hadn’t he agreed to telegraph Kentucky? Now there was no hope. As far as Don Cazar was concerned, one Drew Kirby could be written off the list. Drew had made an enemy of the very person he most wanted to convince.
He doesn’t want a powerful civilian ready to face up to him all the time. If he can discredit Don Cazar in this country, he figures he has it made." Nye laughed shortly. "Lordy, what bottle did he suck out a dream like that? A lizard might jus’ as well try to fight it out with a cougar an’ think he hadda chance of winnin’. This here’s th’ Range, an’ ain’t nobody but th’ Old Man runs th’ Range!
Rennie went into action, so swiftly that for a startled moment Drew was left gaping at empty space. Don Cazar had caught up one of the rifles from under a window and had crossed the doorway to look back at the roof of the Casa Grande, calling out an inquiry in another language. "Apaches don’t attack at night!" Drew was heading for the door in turn.
Topham had come to the door of the cantina, his hand outstretched. "Welcome back, Hunt!" "Paugh!" The Mexican spat. "Where is there one Indio who is able to face Don Cazar on his own ground? The folly of that they learned long ago." Don Cazar smiled. That mask of aloofness was wiped away as if he were ten years younger and twenty years less responsible than he had been only seconds earlier.
The cart was driven by a Mexican in leather breeches and jacket over a red shirt. Behind him rode the boy and girl Drew had seen in the Tubacca alley, mounted on rangy, nervous horses that had speed in every line of their under-fleshed bodies. Each rider trailed four spare mounts roped nose to tail. "Buenos días, Don Cazar."
So my father took my mother away secretly, brought her to Texas when they were both very young. Then Don Cazar went to war and the news came that he had been killed. My grandfather went to Texas and took my mother home with him. She died a few months later, when I was born. "It was only after my grandfather died, two years ago, that letters from my father were found among his private papers.
Sí, that was a great pity, Don Cazar. Well, we shall try, we shall try this time to put that diablo under!" An hour later Drew was facing a diablo of his own, with far less confidence than Hilario Trinfan had voiced. Just how stupid could one be? Around him now were men trained from early childhood to this life, and he could show no skill at their employment.
But I knew—I had seen Juanito watching me when I tried that fine rope. And I knew his thoughts: no one must have a rope as good as Juanito’s! Not long after that he ran away, to join the army. But really that was because Don Cazar caught him beating one of the Indios. Only that is not generally known.
Drew shook his head. "Whisky? Wine?" He gestured to a tray with waiting glasses. "Sherry." Drew automatically answered without thought. "What do you think of the stock you saw down in the corral?" Don Cazar poured a honey-colored liquid from the decanter into a small glass.
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