"Well, that's it. U.S. As big an' plain as th' paint on a Comanche face an' almost as ugly. Them's army mounts an' I don't see no troopers hereabouts," Anse said.

Running Fox materialized in his ghostly fashion, and they retraced at a better speed and less effort the path which had brought them to the canyon perch. Just as they were about to top the ridge behind the mustanger camp, the Pima held up a warning hand.

"Long knives...."

"Troopers?" They went to their knees and made a stealthy crawl to the crest of the ridge.

There were troopers down there, all right. The Trinfans sat on their saddles while an officer walked up and down before them. Running Fox put a finger on Drew's arm and motioned to the left. The horses of the mustangers were browsing in a small dell, their night hobbles unloosed.

Together the trio moved in that direction.

The Pima slipped ahead with a speed and efficiency of motion his companions envied. He had the two nearest horses in hand, leading them toward the bushes.

"Looks like we ride bareback." Anse caught at a hackamore, then mounted.

"Move!" Drew waved Running Fox to the other horse. "We can't wait to get another horse. You ride for the Stronghold, make it straight to Rennie and report. I'm stayin' here. I can say we were fired and Trinfan took me on as a hand."

Anse was the better rider under these circ.u.mstances, and the better scout.

To wait to pick up a third horse was folly.

"What about Shannon?"

"Shannon'll have to wait!" Drew slapped the Texan's horse. It reared and then pounded off. Drew turned to walk back to the camp. He rounded the end of the ridge and stopped short. The round and deadly mouth of an Army Colt was pointed straight at his middle, covering the disastrously empty pocket of his money belt.

13

A lantern provided a very small and smoky light on a table of three boards mounted on boxes. If the furniture was makeshift, the walls of the room were not. Logs and adobe were just as effective for the purpose of confinement as stone blocks. Drew sat up on a bunk sh.e.l.l of board holding straw, and rested his head between his hands. He could follow the action which had brought him here, trace it back almost minute by minute over the past three days. How he had come here was plain enough; why was another matter.

Lieutenant Spath, back in the mustangers' camp, might have accepted the Kentuckian's story. Or he might at least have been uncertain enough not to arrest him, if only Trooper Stevens had not been one of the patrol. Once before Stevens had been most vocal about Rebs who were too free with their fists. Spath's trooper guard, reporting the escape of Running Fox and Anse, had condemned his captive fully as far as the lieutenant was concerned. The troopers had then searched their prisoner and to them a loaded money belt worn by a drifter did not make good sense, either-unless too much sense on the wrong side of the ledger. Drearily Drew had to admit that had he stood in the lieutenant's boots, he would have made exactly the same decision and brought his prisoner back to the camp.

So here he was now-just where Bayliss had promised to see him-in an army detention cell, with no proof of ident.i.ty and the circ.u.mstantial evidence against him piling up by the minute. All they needed was some definite proof to tie him to Kitch.e.l.l and he was lost. He had to pin his hopes on Anse-and _Don_ Cazar.

Drew ground his boot heel into the dirt floor. That was just what he had sworn he would never do-call upon Hunt Rennie for help. Especially now, since the troopers had discovered those army-branded horses back in the canyon and Bayliss would try to use that against Rennie. Anse's escape had been a short-sighted solution, Drew knew. To the captain such action only tied the Range in deeper. The Kentuckian ran his fingers through his hair, trying to think of something which had _not_ gone wrong.

The plank door banged open and Drew's head came up with a snap. No use letting these Yankees think they had him worried. The lantern, feeble as it was, picked out the stripes on the blouse of the first man, the tin plate in the hands of the second.

Drew looked down at the plate as it was slid under the bars and across the floor of his cell.

"Stew, Sergeant? Ain't that overfeedin'? Thought bread and water was more the captain's style for Reb prisoners." Drew was pleased that he was able to sound unconcerned.

"c.o.c.ky one, ain't you?" asked the man who had brought in the plate. "All you Rebs is alike-never know when you're licked-"

"Get along, Farley, that's enough," Muller broke in.

Drew picked up the plate and forced himself to spoon up its contents. The stuff was still warm and not too bad. After the second spoonful he discovered that he was hungry-that much he would not have to pretend.

"Kid!"

Sergeant Muller's bulk shut most of the lantern glow out of the cell.

"You young squirts're all alike-never take no advice. But I'm gonna give it, anyway. When th' cap'n sees you, you b.u.t.ton your lip! He ain't one as takes kindly to no smart talkin', 'specially not from a prisoner. As far as he's concerned he's got you about dead to rights-hoss thievin' from th'

army."

"I'd like to know what proof he has," Drew returned sharply. "Your patrol picked me up well away from those horses-in the mustanger camp where I was workin'-and Captain Bayliss can't prove that's not true, either. Anyway, what difference does it make to you, Sergeant?"

"Since you ask, I don't rightly know, kid. Maybe you was spoilin' for a fight in th' Jacks an' did push our boys-"

"But you don't think so, Sergeant." Drew put the plate on the bunk and stood up to approach the bars. Muller was the taller; the Kentuckian had to raise his eyes to meet the sergeant's. The trooper's face was mostly in the shadow, but it was plain the man did not mean him any ill.

"I got m' reasons." Muller did not make any straighter answer. "But you think o' what th' cap'n does know about you, kid. You go ridin' 'round with gold on you-more money than any drifter ever sees in ten years or more. You're caught near where some stolen army stock is stashed away, an'

your partner lights out h.e.l.l-for-leather, breaking through army lines. An'

we only got your story as to who you really are. I ask you-does that read good in the lieutenant's report when th' cap'n gets it?"

"No," Drew answered. "But what do you suggest doin' about it, Sergeant?"

"Got anybody in town as will speak up for you, Kirby? Reese Topham? He did before."

"He doesn't know any more than what he said right then. Trouble is, Sergeant, anybody I could ask to back me up I'd have to bring out from Kentucky-and I don't believe Captain Bayliss would wait for that."

"You work for Rennie, don't you?"

"Hunt Rennie has nothing to do with this. He didn't know those horses were on the Range--"

"Because you put them there, Kirby?"

Muller made a lightning about-face. He snapped to attention facing the captain.

"And what are you doing here, Sergeant?"

"Prisoner bein' fed, sir!" Muller reported stolidly.

"And there is no need for conversation. Dismissed, Sergeant!"

The captain watched Muller leave before he turned once more to Drew.

"Kirby, do you know the penalty for horse stealing in this country?" he snapped.

"Yes."

"Then you must know just what you have to face."

"Captain ..." Drew began slowly, wanting to make his words just right.

There was no reason to let Bayliss think he could simply ride right over his prisoner. On the other hand Muller's advice had been good; it would be dangerous to antagonize the officer. "I had nothing to do with those stolen horses. We found them, yes, but they were already in the canyon.

And there were two men guardin' them-up on the ridge. They must have cleared out when your patrol rode in, but they were there the night before."