, son. Say, I don't rightly know your name...."

"Drew Kirby."

"Wal, sure, Kirby, Tobe Kells is a man o' his word. Iffen there's any
reason to think you'll be needed, I'll send Callie along for you. Callie!"

At Kells' hail a boy swung down the loft ladder. He was wiry thin, with a
thick mop of sun-bleached hair and a flashing grin. At the sight of Shiloh
and Shadow he whistled.

"Now ain't they th' purtiest things?" he inquired of the stable at large.
"'Bout th' best stock we've had here since th' last time _Don_ Cazar
brought in a couple o' hissen. Where'll I put your plunder, mister?" He
was already loosing Croaker's pack. "You be stayin' over to th' Jacks?"

Drew glanced up at the haymow from which Callie had just descended. "Any
reason why I can't bunk up there?" he asked Kells.

"None 'tall, Kirby, none 'tall. Know you want to be handy like. Stow that
there gear up above, Callie, an' don't you drop nothin'. Rest yourself
easy, son. These here hosses is goin' to be treated jus' like th' good
stuff they is."

"Croaker, also." Drew stopped by the mule, patted the long nose, gave a
flip to the limp ear. "He's good stuff, too--served in the cavalry...."

Kells studied the young man by the mule. Cavalry saddle on the stud, two
Colt pistols belted high and butt forward, and that military cord on his
hat--army boots, too. The liveryman knew the signs. This was not the first
veteran to drift into Tubacca; he wouldn't be the last either. Seems like
half of both them armies back east didn't want to go home an' sit down
peaceful like now that they was through wi' shootin' at each other. No,
siree, a right big herd o' 'em was trailin' out here. An' he thought he
could put name to the color of coat this young'un had had on his back,
too. Only askin' more than a man volunteered to tell, that warn't neither
manners nor wise.

"He gits th' best, too, Kirby." Kells shifted a well-chewed tobacco cud
from one cheek to the other.

He could trust Kells, Drew thought. A little of his concern over Shadow
eased. He shouldered the saddlebags and made his way back down the alley,
beginning to see the merit in the liveryman's suggestions. Food--and a
bath! What he wouldn't give for a bath! Hay to sleep on was fine; he had
had far worse beds during the past four years. But a hot bath to be
followed by a meal which was not the jerky, corn meal, bitter coffee of
trail cooking! His pace quickened into a trot but slackened again as he