e kid to take the
horse without Drew's knowledge? Or for some reason had he wanted Leon to
spill this? A trick to get Shiloh out of the Stronghold? But why?

He buckled on his gun belt, settled the twin holsters comfortably.
Shannon--what and why, he repeated silently. Nothing sorted out in his
mind. Drew only felt a prickle of uneasiness which began between his
shoulder blades and ran a chill down his spine, as if rifle sights were on
him.

But Shannon did not return to the Stronghold, and Drew was kept busy at
the corrals from dawn to dusk. In a month of hard work it was easy to
forget what might only be fancies.

There was an invigorating crispness in the air, and the dun gelding the
Kentuckian rode savored the breeze as a desert dweller savors water. Drew
was indulgent with his mount's skittishness as they pounded along at the
tail of the horse herd bound for Tubacca.

From a rocky point well before them there was a flash of light. Jared Nye,
on Drew's left, took off his hat and waved a wide-armed signal to answer
Greyfeather's mirror. Two of the Pimas were scouting ahead on this two-day
drive, and the Anglo riders were keeping the herd to a trot. Apaches,
Kitchell, even _bandidos_ from over the border, could be sniffing about
the Range, eyeing its riches, ready to pick up anything left unprotected.
The men rode with their rifles free of the boot, fastened by a loop of
rawhide to the saddle horn, the old Texas precaution which allowed for
instant action. And at each halt the six-shooter Colts' loading was
checked.

Nye swerved, sending a lagger on with a sharp crack of quirt in the air.
He pulled up to match Drew's sobered trot.

"That's the last bad stretch; now it'll be downhill an' green fields all
th' way." Nye nodded at the narrow opening between two hills lying ahead.
"Glad to get this band in on all four legs an' runnin' easy."

"You expected trouble?"

"Kid, in this here country you don't expect nothin' else but. Last time we
brought hosses up th' trail they jumped us four, five miles back--right
close to where we saw that pile of bones this mornin'. 'Fore he knew what
hit us Jim Berry was face down an' never got up again. An' th' Old Man
took him a crease 'crost th' ribs that made him bleed like a stuck pig.
Got him patched up an' into town; then he keeled over when he tried to git
down off his hoss an' was in bed a week."

"Apaches?"

"Naw, we figured it was Kitchell. Couldn't prove it thou