e same combination were the pride of several other
families living around Lexington.

"A racing line of high blood," _Don_ Lorenzo said thoughtfully. "_Si_,
this one has the pride, the appearance. You have raced him, _senor_?" he
asked Drew with formal courtesy.

"Not on any real track, _senor_. During the war there were no races."

"He wasn't a cavalry mount?" _Don_ Cazar looked surprised.

"No, suh. Too young for that. He was foaled on April sixth in sixty-two.
That's why they called him Shiloh."

There was a moment of silence, broken by a hail from the door.

"You there--Rennie!"

Drew saw the involuntary spasm of _Don_ Cazar's lips, the shadow of an
expression which might mean he anticipated a distasteful scene to come.
But the quirk disappeared as he turned to face the man in the blue
uniform.

"Captain Bayliss." It was acknowledgment rather than a greeting, delivered
in a cool tone.

"I want to see you, Rennie!" The officer stamped forward a step or so, to
stand in the full light of the first lantern. He was of medium height, and
his blue blouse had been cut by a good tailor, though now it was worn. He
was a good-looking man, though jowly about the mouth, above which a
closely cropped mustache bristled. His color was high under a pink skin
which in this hot country must burn painfully. And there was the permanent
stamp of uncertain temper in the lines about his prominent eyes.

4

"So, you see me, Bayliss," _Don_ Cazar returned evenly. "There is some
trouble?"

Bartolome shifted from one foot to the other, his spurs ringing. _Don_
Lorenzo's expression was one of withdrawal, but on the round countenance
of the Mexican was open dislike.

The sun-reddened skin flushed darker. "All right, Rennie!" the captain
exploded. "If you want it straight, that's the way you're going to get it!
You've been hiring Rebs again!"

Once before Drew had seen explosive anger curbed visibly by a man who knew
the folly of losing control over his emotions. It had been on a hilltop
back in Tennessee, with the storm clouds of January overhead. General
Bedford Forrest, watching men driven to the limit by necessity and his own
orders, had looked just that way when he had rounded on Drew, bearing news
of yet another break-through by the Federals. Now it was this Anglo
wearing Spanish dress and standing in a dim stable, reining temper to meet
the open hostility of the captain.

"Captain Bayliss." The words sounded as