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Updated: June 1, 2025
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.
Might be some racing. You aim to stay on in Tubacca?" "Have to until Shadow can trail again. How’s the prospect for a job?" "With cattle—horses—teaming?" "Horses, I guess." "Well, Don Cazar—Rennie—runs the best manadas. You might hit him for work. He’ll be riding in to meet the wagons. Carmencita, did you bring all that was left of the supplies?"
They threaded their way to the cantina where the officer dismounted and went inside. The troopers continued to sit their saddles and regard the scene about them wistfully. "Looks like a duty patrol," Fenner remarked. "Maybe Cap’n Bayliss. He’s gittin’ some biggety idear as how it’s up t’ him t’ police this here town. Does he start t’ crow too loud, Don Cazar or Reese Topham’ll cut his spurs.
Here it was: a chance to work on the Range, to know Hunt Rennie, and learn whether Don Cazar was to remain a legend or become a father. But now he was not sure. "I’m no breaker, suh. I’ve gentled, yes—but eastern style." "Breaking horses can be brutal, though we don’t ride with red spurs on the Range. Suppose we try some of the eastern methods and see how they work on our wild ones.
I have heard what you said to Señor Topham, that you are the son of Don Cazar. Why did he not know of this? Why have you never lived here with him?" "He didn’t know I was alive, and I didn’t know that he was. My grandfather—my mother’s father—he hated Don Cazar very much, because of a duel and other things.
During the war years he had more or less withdrawn within the borders of the Range, offering refuge to settlers and miners fleeing Indian attacks. Don Cazar was a legend now, and a man did not quickly claim kinship with a legend. "Want a room, Kirby?" Topham paused beside his table. "No. I have to stay close to the mare." "Yes. I can understand that.
"And Señor Juanito—for this he will hate you!" "Because I did not tell who I was at the start?" Drew asked. "No—because you are truly Don Cazar’s son. Always Don Cazar, he treated Señor Juanito as a son, but I do not think that was enough. Señor Juanito, he is one who must have everything, all. Even when he was a boy, he was like that.
The Indio was being taught by Don Cazar to have charge of the grain storage, and Juanito thought that Indios are as dirt—should have no place among Anglos. Señor Juanito would hate with a black hate anyone who had a right to be a son at the Stronghold, a better right than he could claim. He must always be on top, at the head.
From the pocket meadow came the answering squeals of their own mounts, the pounding of hoofs as they fought their stake ropes. "Don Cazar!" It was Teodoro. "The Pinto comes—and would fight!" Again that shriek of rage and utter defiance. The rocks echoed it eerily, and Drew found it hard to judge either distance or direction.
Bartolomé Rivas, he braids beautiful ropes, and he made one for Juanito. Always I wanted a rope like that. I would watch Juanito use it and wish. Then once we spend Christmas at the Stronghold ... it was after my father was hurt and Don Cazar had us to stay there so he could tend my father’s wounds.
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