Kirby did not scowl, he did not even touch the little man. But as one
drawling word was joined to the next, Simmy held his body tighter
against the wall, as if to escape by pushing.

"I ain't done nothin'!" he cried.

"That's what I said, little man. You ain't done nothin'. But you're
goin' to do somethin'--talk!"

Simmy's pale tongue swept across working lips. "What ... you
want--wantta ... know?" he stuttered.

"You expectin' to meet some friends heah?"

"Th' rest o' the boys an' th' cap'n; they may be ketchin' up."

"How many 'boys'?"

Simmy's tongue tripped again. He swallowed. Drew thought he was trying
to produce a crumb of defiance. Kirby reached out, selecting Hatch's
bowie knife from the cache of captured weapons. He weighed it across the
palm of his hand as if trying its balance and then, with deceptive ease,
flipped it. The point thudded into the wall scant inches away from
Simmy's right ear, and the little man's head bobbed down so that his
nose hit one of his hunched-up knees.

"How many 'boys'?" Kirby repeated.

"Depends...."

"On what?"

"On how good th' raidin' is. After a fight thar's always some pickin's."

Drew was suddenly sick. What Simmy hinted at was the vulture work among
the dead and the wounded too enfeebled to protect themselves from being
plundered. He saw Kirby's lips set into a thin line.

"Kinda throw a wide rope, don't you, little man? How many 'boys'?"

"Maybe five ... six...."

"An' this heah cap'n?"

"He tells us wheah thar's good pickin's." For a moment the man produced
a spark of spite. "He's a Reb, like you----"

"Have you used this place before?" Drew broke in. If this were either a
regular or temporary rendezvous for this jackal pack, the quicker they
were away, the better.

"No, the cap'n said to meet here tonight."

"I don't suppose he said _when_?" Kirby's question was answered by a
shake of Simmy's unkempt head.

Boyd suddenly moved in his cocoon of blankets, struggling to sit up, and
Drew went to him.

He was coughing again with a strangling fight for breath which was
frightening to watch. Drew steadied him until the attack was over and he
lay in the other's arms, gasping. The liquid in the pot on the fire was
cooked by now. Perhaps if Boyd had some of that in him.... But dared
they stay here?

Kirby squatted back on his heels as Drew settled Boyd on his blankets
and went to unhook the pot. Then the Texan supported the younger boy as
Drew ladled