what?"

"You've worked horses, and they can use another wrangler on the Range.
Right now they've a lot to be topped--want to gentle 'em some and trade 'em
south into Mexico. If you ride for _Don_ Cazar, nobody's goin' to ask too
many questions."

"How d'you know he'll sign me on?" Anse studied his own unkempt if now
clean reflection in the shaving mirror on the wall. "I sure don't look
like no bargain."

"You will when we're through with you," Drew began. The Texan swung
around.

"Looky here, you thinkin' of grub stakin'? I ain't gonna--"

"Suppose you had yourself a stack of cart wheels and my pockets were to
let?" Drew retorted. "I think I remember me some times when we had one
blanket and a hunk of hardtack between us, and there weren't any 'yours'
or 'mine' about it! Or don't you think back that far?"

Anse laughed. "All right, _compadre_, pretty me up like a new stake rope
on a thirty-dollar pony. If I don't agree, likely you'll trip up m'
foreleg an' reshoe me anyway. Right now--I'll say it out good'n clear--I'm
so pore m' backbone rattles when I cough."

"Mistuh Kirby--" Hamilcar came in. "Mistuh Nye says to tell you he'll be
back. 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."

Blue blouses--a corporal's guard of troopers--were pulling up by the cantina
hitch rail as Drew came out into the plaza. Muller's men probably, he
thought. But now he was more intent on Anse's needs.

Few people had ever broken through the crust of self-sufficiency the
Kentuckian had begun to grow in early childhood. His grandfather's bitter
hatred of his father had made Drew an outsider at Red Springs from birth
and had finally driven him away to join General Morgan in '62. Those he
had ever cared about he could list on the fingers of one sun-browned,
rein-hardened hand: Cousin Meredith; her son Shelly--he had died at
Chickamauga between one short breath and the next--Shelly's younger brother
Boyd, who had run away to join Morgan, too, in the sunset of the raider's
career; and Anse, whom he had believed dead until this past hour.

Drew was breathing as fast as if he had charged across the sun-