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What we need is a lay-up till we can make some good plans. An’ Benito, he’ll arrange that." "If he lives." Drew closed his eyes wearily. His face was one bruised ache where Shannon’s blow had landed, and his side was constant pain. "You’ll see," Shannon promised. "We’ve got us a big ace in th’ hole—th’ Range boys don’t know as how I’m with Kitchell, not yet.
But prudence controlled the small flare of temper he felt inside him. It did not really matter. Let Shannon think he was backing down. If the time ever came that they did have to have a showdown, Johnny Shannon might be the surprised one. "You’re sure a trustin’ fella." Shannon’s fingers hooked to the front of the gun belt riding low on the hip. "Not askin’ for no receipt or nothin’...."
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 was teased by a fleeting memory of the past, of a time when he had faced another pair of eyes such as those, surface eyes behind which you could see nothing. Then he became conscious that the pause was too lengthy, and he replied with a hurry he immediately regretted: "No hard feelin’s." This time he was able to recognize the meaning of that quirk of Shannon’s lips.
A horse clattered up from behind at a pace not in keeping with the rough footing, and the rider drew level with Kitchell. "Soldiers comin’, Colonel. Got ’em a couple o’ them Pima Scouts sniffin’ th’ trail an’ some o’ Rennie’s men with ’em, too!" "It ain’t true!" Shannon’s protest was loud. "I seed em—bright an’ clear—mos’ up to where we stopped last.
"You do a lotta sayin’, Kells." The scowl was gone; Shannon’s battered mouth was actually smiling. But, Drew decided, he liked the scowl better than the smile and the tone of the voice accompanying it. "Some men oughtta put a hobble on their tongues. Sure, I know these young whelps an’ their pa too. Sniffin’ round where they ain’t wanted.
Shannon’s eyes flickered again, this time to the locked cupboard. "Heard tell—leastways Callie’s been spoutin’ it around—that you was with General Forrest." "Yes." "You sure musta pulled outta th’ war better’n th’ rest of us poor Rebs. Got you a couple of blooded hosses an’ a good heavy money belt. A sight more luck than th’ rest of us had—"
Mistuh Shannon’s in bed at th’ doctuh’s; he’s gonna be all right soon’s he gets ovah a mighty big headache." He had actually forgotten Shannon! Hastily Drew expressed his satisfaction at the news and added: "This is my cousin from Texas, Hamilcar. He hit town ridin’ light. I’m goin’ over to pick him up a new outfit at Stein’s. You give him all the rest, will you?" "Yes, suh."
Most of the half-dozen men squatting on their heels about a fire were three-quarters bare, showing dusty, brown bodies. Two had dirty calico shirts loose above hide breech-clouts. Dark-brown eyes, as unreadable as Johnny Shannon’s, surveyed Drew, but none of the Indians moved or spoke. Common sense took over, and Drew’s hand dropped from the gun butt.
But Johnny had ideas of his own. Under his direction Drew’s horse broke to the left. There were shots and Drew flattened himself as best he could on the saddle horn, but not before he saw Kitchell spin around in a crazy dance and fall. "All right, all right!" Shannon’s voice was broken, ragged, almost as if he were sobbing. "You ain’t got me yet—not by a sight, you ain’t!"
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