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Me...were th’ Old Man poundin’ th’ hills flat lookin’ for me, I’d crawl th’ nearest bronc an’ make myself as scarce as a snake’s two ears." Nye shrugged. "Kitchell’s got some powerful reason for squattin’ out in th’ brush playin’ cat-eyed with most of th’ territory.
But once such a gun is broken, where can they get another? They cannot walk into Tubacca or Tucson to buy what they need. Kitchell’s men do, perhaps—it is thought that they do so. Also when he trades at the border it is with men who would meet the Apaches with fire and bullets. Apache war parties are never large.
But they will be at the pass and there they will stay." "Why?" "I think they will lay a trap for the raiders. There has been no sign that they trail now behind driven horses. Don Cazar does not pursue; he rides to cut off the road to Mexico. Kitchell’s men, they would not take the open Sonora trail, that is folly for them. So they travel one ridden by men with a price on their heads.
Iffen you wants to sit ’round waitin’ for ’em, do it! I’m clearin’ out—ain’t nobody can say Amos Lutterfield was here." "Nobody but us," Shannon said coldly. "Lutterfield!" Even Drew’s head came around at that. The moonlight was silver bright on the barrel of the Colt in Kitchell’s grasp. "Sergeant, suppose you take precautions to insure the continued company of this man.
Rennie climbed over his rock barricade, and other men came out of cover to move up the cut. Since no one tried to stop them, Drew and Anse went along. "Got us two of ’em ready to talk!" Jared Nye strode to meet his employer. "They’re Kitchell’s gang, all right. Only he ain’t with ’em." "Patrón—" For the first time since he had known him Drew saw Bartolomé Rivas run.
Captain thought you was Kitchell’s man, when he shoulda looked a little closer in a coupla other places." "But you were shot—by Kitchell’s men." "I was creased by th’ shotgun rider on th’ stage we tried to stop. Boys brought me in close to town an’ dumped me on th’ road—gave us a chance to make up another tale to fool Bayliss. Me, I’ve been ridin’ with Colonel Kitchell since ’64.
"It was Kitchell’s men who shot him?" León wanted to know. "Could be. Warn’t no Apaches, that’s for certain. No Injun would have jus’ shot him down an’ not made sure he was crow bait. Sure a fool thing to do, ridin’ there alone. Anyway, th’ Old Man’ll stick him into bed here, an’ I’ll bet you Johnny ain’t gonna ride out anywhere without an eye on him—not for a good long while."
"Cleared out—got clean away." Again Spath supplied the information. "Or so they tell us. He went back to the Stronghold after he broke through our lines. But when a patrol rode down to get him, he was gone." "Why?" Drew asked. "Why pick him up?" "Why? Because he’s in this, too!" Spath retorted. "Probably rode straight to Kitchell’s hideout. Now, Mr. Rennie, time’s up.
"Seems to me, suh," Anse cut in now, "that three more guns is gonna be healthy for you to have ’round here, does th’ fight work out th’ way it can. Me, I don’t make no big brag on my shootin’—but I never did wear no six-gun, nor tote no carbine, jus’ for show." "Of course, if you think we’re Kitchell’s plants," Drew added, "then keep us under guard. Only we’re not and never were."
You battin’ him ’round like that don’t do no good." So Topham had been right—Johnny Shannon was Kitchell’s man. Not that it mattered now. Even if, by some miracle, Drew could get away from this pack of wolves, he had no idea of where he was or which way to go. One man alone and lost in this country faced death as certain as the bullet Johnny Shannon had already loaded for him.
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