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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.
All the way out from Texas he had practiced doggedly with the lariat, and his best fell far short of what a range-bred child could do. Yet he had an audience waiting down at the corral. Drew’s mouth was a straight line. He would soon confirm their belief that Don Cazar had in truth hired Shiloh instead of his owner.
He was Drew Kirby, Texan, not Drew Rennie of Red Springs, Kentucky. "For a man just off the trail, Kirby, the Four Jacks does have a few of the delights of civilization. A bath...." One of Topham’s dark eyebrows, so in contrast to his silvery hair, slid up inquiringly, and he grinned at Drew’s involuntary but emphatic nod. "One of nature’s gifts to our fair city is the hot spring. Hamilcar!"
He was sure that that murderous red-and-white devil had finished off Shiloh. Along the wall ... keep going.... The dust was thinning again. Drew’s hand was on the Colt Topham had supplied. The Spencer lay back on the ridge. But if any kind of fortune favored him now, he was going to shoot the Pinto—if it was the last thing he ever did. There was a clear space ahead once more.
He gazed beyond Drew’s shoulder into the world outside the cantina door. "Why would anyone want to store books in a trunk in a cave?" Drew changed the subject quickly to break that unseeing stare. He outlined what Stein had told him, and Anse’s attention was all his again. "Might catch up with this Lutterfield an’ ask a few questions—" "Stein couldn’t get anythin’ out of him.
Drew’s hands balled into fists where they rested on his knees. "Sure you can’t—you never had any!" Spath returned. "I had them. I don’t have them now." What was the use of trying to tell Rennie about his suspicions of Shannon? And if Johnny had destroyed the papers as well he might have, Drew could never make them believe him, anyway. "Kirby, this is serious!" said Rennie.
Shannon’s thumb indicated Drew. "I don’t see how he can get away. Hurry up!" Johnny dismounted with visible reluctance, but not before he blasted Drew’s hopes by looping the reins of the captive’s horse around his own saddle horn. And in addition Kitchell stood there with drawn gun. They had disposed of the body and Johnny was back when a sudden command boomed out of the air. "Freeze!"
Drew’s bare and painfully acquired competence with the rope was paired to the Texan’s range training, while Anse’s cruder and faster methods of "toppin’ a wild one" were smoothed by Drew’s more patient gentling process.
"This waitin’—" Anse sat cross-legged on the bunk next to Drew’s, his thumb spinning the rowel of one spur. "I never did take kindly to waitin’. Is he or ain’t he gonna sign me on?" Drew, lying flat, stared up at the muslin-covered ceiling which years of dust had turned to yellow-brown. "You ought to be used to it by now—waitin’, I mean. We had us plenty of it in the army."
Had he expected the kid to take the horse without Drew’s knowledge? Or for some reason had he wanted León to spill this? A trick to get Shiloh out of the Stronghold? But why? He buckled on his gun belt, settled the twin holsters comfortably. Shannon—what and why, he repeated silently. Nothing sorted out in his mind.
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