ey, here comes somebody poundin'
leather so hard he's gonna beat it right intuh th' ground!" Fenner pulled
up Tar, flung up his hand to signal the wagons to a halt.

Dust rolled in a cloud with two or three riders at its center. They were
pushing the pace all right. Drew jerked his carbine from its saddle boot,
saw Anse beat him to that action by a scant second or two. But the
newcomers were already drawing rein, bringing their foam-lathered horses
to a pawing stop. A buckskin-clad man mounted on a powerful grulla gelding
faced Fenner, his whole tense body and snapping eyes backing the demand he
made:

"Where's Johnny?"

"Back at town, Rennie, at Doc's. He ain't bad. Got him a head crease wot
knocked him silly for a bit. Doc says a day o' two in bed and then he kin
come home."

"How did it happen?" That second question was as sharp as the first.

"Nobody's got it straight outta him yet. Army patrol picked him up on th'
road close to town--looked like he'd been footin' it quite a spell. An' by
that time he didn't know wot he was doin'. Nye got him to Doc's an' they
put him to bed. He ain't said much, 'cept Kitchell jumped him down Long
Canyon way----"

"Kitchell!" Hunt Rennie repeated the name and nodded. "But ... Long Canyon
..." There was a shade of puzzlement in his voice. "All right, carry on,
Crow. I'll try to get back to the Stronghold before you pull south--if
Johnny's all right. Maybe I can bring him back with me."

The grulla made what was close to a standing leap into a gallop and Rennie
flashed along the line of wagons in the opposite direction toward Tubacca.
Fenner signaled once more and the train began the slower trip southward.

Drew sat watching the dust arise again as the trio of riders pounded away.
He could no longer make out individual riders, just the rising dust.
Rennie on his way to Johnny Shannon ... What had Fenner said-"li'l cub ...
warn't more 'n four." Drew Rennie at four--hard to sort out one very early
memory from another. There had been that time Uncle Murray had caught him
down at the creek, making paper boats. How could a child that young know
one kind of paper from another? But Hunt Rennie's son was judged to have
torn up a letter with deliberate malice, not just taken paper found
conveniently on the veranda. Was he four then, or even younger? But he
could remember the punishment very vividly. And the time he'd run off to
see the circus come into town, he and Shelly ... Cousin Je