"Now, what's your story?" the Kentuckian asked the man he fronted.

"An' jus' what's all this smokin' 'bout?" Kells came out. "You, Shannon, what're you doin' here? Been drinkin' again, fightin', too, by th' look of you."

"_Senor_ Kells." The girl caught at the older man's arm. "_Por favor, senor_, we are not thieves, not spies. We come after _Senor_ Juanito because he dropped his purse. Then he see Teodoro coming, he not listen-he beat on him with quirt. You know, we are honest peoples!"

"Now then, Faquita, don't you git so upset, gal!" She was wailing aloud, making no effort to wipe away the tears running down her cheeks. "Johnny, what kinda game you tryin'? You know these kids are straight; them an'

their ol' man's come to work th' Range for wild ones on Rennie's own askin'. Takin' a quirt to th' kid, eh?" Kells' voice slid up the scale.

"You sure have yourself a snootful tonight! Now you jus' walk yourself outta here on th' bounce. I'm doin' th' sayin' of what goes on, on my own property."

"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. An' mustangers ain't above throwin' a sticky loop when they see a hoss worth it. We ain't blind on th' Range." His head swung a little so he was looking at the girl.

"You'd better hold that in mind, gal. Double R hosses have come up missin'

lately. It's easy to run a few prime head south to do some moonlight tradin' at th' border. An' we don't take kindly to losin' good stock!"

The boy lunged against Drew's pinioning arm. "Now he says we are horse thieves! Tell that to us before the _Don_ Cazar!"

Shannon curled the quirt lash about his wrist. "Don't think I won't, Mex!

He don't like havin' his colt crop whittled down. You-" Those blue eyes, brilliant, yet oddly shallow and curtained, met Drew's for the second time. "Don't know who you are, stranger, but you had no call to mix in.

I'll be seein' you. Kinda free with a gun, leastwise at showin' it. As quick to back up your play?"

"Try me!" The words came out of Drew before he thought.

Why had he said that? He had never been one to pick a fight or take up a challenge. What was there about Shannon that prodded Drew this way? He'd met the gamec.o.c.k breed before and had never known the need to bristle at their crowing. Now he was disturbed that Shannon could p.r.i.c.k him so.

Odd, the other had been successfully turned from his purpose here. Yet now as he swung around and walked away down the alley Drew was left with a nagging doubt, a feeling that in some way or other Shannon had come off even in this encounter.... But how and why?

Teodoro spat. His sister tugged at Kells' sleeve. "It is not true what he said. Why does he wish to make trouble?"

"Lissen, gal, an' you, too, Teodoro-jus' keep clear of Johnny Shannon when he's on th' prod that way. I've knowed that kid since he didn't have muscle enough to pull a gun 'less he took both hands to th' job. But he's not needin' any two hands to unholster now. An' he's drinkin' a lot-mean, ugly drunk, he is. Somethin' must have riled him good tonight-"

"In the cantina there was a soldier from the camp," Faquita volunteered.

"They call names. He and _Senor_ Juanito fight. _Don_ Reese, he put them both out in the street. _Senor_ Juanito he falls, drops purse. Teodoro picks it up, and we follow. When we try to give it back _Senor_ Juanito yell, 'spy,' hit with whip. That is the truth, _por Dios_, the truth!"

"Yeah, sounds jus' like Johnny these days. Him with a snootful an'

somebody yellin' Reb and Yank. Some men can't forgit an' don't seem to want to. Johnny sure takes it hard bein' on th' losin' side-turned him dirt mean. Now, you kids, you stayin' in town?"

"_Si._" Faquita nodded vigorously. "With Tia Maria."

"Then you git there an' stay clear of Johnny Shannon, _sabe_? No more trouble."

"_Si, Senor_ Kells. You, _senor_," she spoke to Drew, "to you we owe a big debt. Come, Teodoro!" She caught at her brother and pulled him away.

"What makes a kid go sour?" Kells asked of the shadows beyond rather than of Drew. "Johnny warn't no real trouble 'fore he skinned off to ride with Howard. Sure he was always a wild one, but no more'n a lotta kids. An'

he'd answer th' lead rein. 'Course we don't know what happened to him in Texas after th' big retreat th' Rebs made outta here. Could be he larned a lot what was no good. Now he sops up whisky when he hits town an' picks fights, like he didn't git his belly full of that in th' war. You can't never tell how a kid's gonna turn out."

"Hey! Mister Kirby, you better git in here!" Callie hailed from the stable. "Th' mare ... she's...."

Drew jammed the Colt under his belt and ran.

The scent of hay, of grain, of horse.... Drew's head rolled on the pillow improvised from hay and blanket as sun lay hot across his face. He rubbed the back of his hand over his eyes and then came fully awake to remember the night before.

It took only a minute to get down the ladder into Shadow's stall where a broom tail jiggled up and down above absurdly long baby legs and small rounded haunches. Shadow's small daughter breakfasted. Callie squatted on his heels near-by watching the process benignly.

"Ain't she 'bout th' best-favored filly you ever saw?" he asked. "How come all your hosses is grays? Shiloh her pa?"

Drew shook his head. "No, her sire's Storm Cloud. But all that line are grays."

"This Storm Cloud, he's a runnin' hoss?"

"About the runnin'est horse in his part of the country, Callie. This filly ought to pick up her heels some, if she takes after her dam and sire."

"What you namin' her?"

Up to that moment Drew had not really thought about it. The crisp air blowing into the stable, carrying something beside the scents of the town, gave him a suggestion.

"How about Sage, Callie?"

The boy thought seriously and then nodded. "Yeah-Sage. That's gray an'

it's purty, smells good, too."

Drew pulled up his shirt, dug into the pocket of the money belt for the horse papers. "Got a pencil-or better-pen and ink around here anywhere?"

"Mister Kells, he keeps ledgers over in th' tack room. Got some ink an' a pen there. How come you need that? You ain't makin' out no bill of sale on her already, are you?" Callie was shocked.

"Hardly. Just want to put her down right and proper on the tally sheet."

The boy followed to watch Drew make the record on the margin of Shadow's papers. As the Kentuckian explained, Callie was deeply interested.

"You mean as how you can tell way back jus' what hosses bred your hosses?

That's sure somethin'! Round here we knows a good hoss, but we ain't always sure of his pa, not if he's wild stuff."

"Lots of wild horses hereabouts then?"

"Sure. Some're jus' mustangs; other's good stuff gone wild-run off by th'

'Paches an' broke loose, or got away from a 'wet hoss' band-"

"'Wet horse' band?"

Callie glanced at him a little sharply. "How come you ain't knowin' 'bout 'wet hosses'? Heard tell as how they have 'em that same trouble down Texas way-"

"But I don't come from the border country."

"Well, Texas sure is a great big piece o' country, so maybe you don't know 'bout them river tricks. Wet hosses-they's hosses what is run off up here, driven down to th' border where they's swapped for hosses what some Mex _bandidos_ have thrown a sticky loop over. Then th' Mexes take them Anglo hosses south an' sell 'em, where their brands ain't gonna git n.o.body into noose trouble. An' th' stolen Mex hosses, they's drove up here an' maybe sold to some of th' same fellas what lost th' others. Hosses git themselves lost 'long them back-country trails, specially if they's pushed hard. So them strays join up with th' wild ones. Iffen a mustanger can rope him one an' bring it in ... well, if it's a good one, maybe so he'll git a reward from th' man what's lost him. Heard tell that _Don_ Cazar, he's set some good rewards on a coupla studs as was run off th' Range this summer."

"_Don_ Cazar has good horses?"