Rebel Spurs by Andre Norton

The Project Gutenberg EBook of Rebel Spurs by Andre Norton This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at http://www.gutenberg.org/license Title: Rebel Spurs Author: Andre Norton Release Date: March 17, 2007 [Ebook 20840] Language: English ***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK REBEL SPURS*** Rebel Spurs Andre Norton THE WORLD PUBLISHING COMPANY CLEVELAND AND NEW YORK Published by The World Publishing Company 2231 West 110th Street, Cleveland 2, Ohio Published simultaneously in Canada by Nelson, Foster & Scott Ltd. First Edition Copyright © 1962 by Andre Norton All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher, except for brief passages included in a review appearing in a newspaper or magazine. Printed in the United States of America. Project Gutenberg Transcriber's Copyright Note: Project Gutenberg has not been able to find a United States copyright renewal. To the best of our knowledge, this work has fallen to the public domain. For HENDRY PEART and CARROLL COLLINS who share my interest in "The West." Jacket painting by Peter Burchard ix Rebel Spurs ANDRE NORTON (front dusk jacket) In 1866, only men uprooted by war had reason to ride into Tubacca, Arizona, a nondescript town as shattered and anony- mous as the veterans drifting through it. So when Drew Rennie, newly discharged from Forrest's Confederate scouts, arrived leading everything he owned behind him—his thoroughbred stud Shiloh, a mare about to foal, and a mule—he knew his business would not be questioned. To anyone in Tubacca there could be only one extraordinary thing about Drew, and that he could not reveal: his name, Rennie. Drew had come west from Kentucky to find a father he had thought dead until the year before. Kinship with a man like Hunt Rennie, however—the legendary Don Cazar, owner of a matchless range and prize stallions—was not a claim to be made quickly or lightly. Posing as Drew Kirby the young veteran con- trived to get himself and his friend Anse hired as corral hands at Rennie's Range, but he was hardly prepared for the suspicion and danger which stood between him and his father. As hotheaded as his father, Drew was ready to move on to California—until the day all proof of his Rennie name was stolen from him, and his unwarranted arrest for horse-thieving brought on the accusations of the one man whose trust he needed. Andre Norton's Ride Proud, Rebel! dramatically portrayed the last year of the Confederacy, when brave men like Drew Rennie met defeat with honor. In this sequel, Drew's struggle to establish his identity and begin life anew in a raw, unsettled land reflects the courage of thousands of rootless men set adrift by the Civil War. BY ANDRE NORTON The Defiant Agents Ride Proud, Rebel! Storm Over Warlock Galactic Derelict The Time Traders Star Born Yankee Privateer The Stars Are Ours! EDITED BY ANDRE NORTON Space Pioneers Space Service [007] 1 Even the coming of an autumn dusk could not subdue the color of this land. Shadows here were not gray or black; they were violet and purple. The crumbling adobe walls were laced by strings of crimson peppers, vivid in the torch and lantern light. It had been this way for days, red and yellow, violet—colors he had hardly been aware existed back in the cool green, silver, gray-brown of Kentucky. So this was Tubacca! The rider shifted his weight in the saddle and gazed about him with watchful interest. Back in '59 this had been a flourishing town, well on its way to prominence in the Southwest. The mines in the hills behind producing wealth, the fact that it was a watering place on two cross-country routes—the one from Tucson down into Sonora of Old Mexico, the other into California—had all fed its growth. Then the war.... The withdrawal of the army, the invasion of Sibley's Confederate forces which had reached this far in the per- sons of Howard's Arizona Rangers—and most of all the raiding, vicious, deadly, and continual, by Apaches and outlaws—had blasted Tubacca. Now, in the fall of 1866, it was a third of what it had been, with a ragged fringe of dilapidated adobes crumbling [008] back into the soil. Only this heart core was still alive in the dusk. Smell, a myriad of smells, some to tickle a flat stomach, others to wrinkle the nose. Under the rider the big stud moved, tossed his head, drawing the young man's attention from the town back to his own immediate concerns. The animal he rode, the two he led were, at first glance, far more noticeable than the dusty rider himself. 2 Rebel Spurs His saddle was cinched about the barrel of a big gray colt, one that could not have been more than five years old but showed enough power and breeding to attract attention in any horse-con- scious community. Here was a thoroughbred of the same blood which had pounded race tracks in Virginia and in Kentucky to best all comers. Even now, after weeks on the trail, with a day's burden of alkali dust grimed into his coat, the stud was a beautiful thing. And his match was the mare on the lead rope, plainly a lady of family, perhaps of the same line, since her coat was also silver. She crowded closer, nickered plaintively. She was answered by an anxious bray from the fourth member of the party. The mule bearing the trail pack was in ludicrous contrast to his own aristocratic companions. His long head, with one entirely limp and flopping ear, was grotesquely ugly, the carcass beneath the pack a bone rack, all sharp angles and dusty hide. Looks, however, as his master could have proven, were deceiving. "Soooo—" The rider's voice was husky from swallowing trail grit, but it was tuned to the soothing croon of a practiced horse trainer. "Sooo—lady, just a little farther now, girl...." From the one-story building on the rider's right a man emerged. [009] He paused to light a long Mexican cigarillo, and as he held the match to let the sulfur burn away, his eyes fell upon the stallion. A casual interest tightened into open appreciation as he stepped from under the porch-overhang into the street. "That is some horse, sir." His voice was that of an educated gentleman. The lantern at the end of the porch picked out the fine ruffled linen of his shirt, a vest with a painted design of fighting cocks, and the wink of gold buttons. The rather extravagant color of his clothing matched well with the town. "I think so." The answer was short and yet not discourteous. Again the mare voiced her complaint, and the rider turned to the gentleman. "There is a livery stable here, suh?" Uncon- sciously he reverted in turn to the rather formal speech pattern of 1 3 another place and time. The man in the painted vest had transferred his attention from stallion to mare. "Yes. Quickest way is down this alley. Tobe Kells owns it. He's a tolerable vet, too. She's near her time, ain't she?" "Yes." The rider raised one finger to the straight wide brim of his low-crowned black hat. He was already turning his mount when the townsman added: "No hotel here, stranger. But the Four Jacks serves a pretty good meal and keeps a couple of beds for overnighters. You're welcome back when you've settled the little lady. She Virginia stock?" "Kentucky," the rider answered, and then his lips tightened into a compressed line. Was it a mistake to admit even that much? He would have to watch every word he said in this town. He tugged gently at the lead rope and walked Shiloh ahead at a pace which did not urge Shadow to any great effort. The mule, [010] Croaker, fell in behind her so that they were strung out in the familiar pattern which had been theirs clear from Texas. Minutes later her owner was rubbing down the fretful Shadow, murmuring the soothing words to quiet her. The lean, gray-haired man who had ushered them into the stable stood eyeing the mare's distended sides. "I'd say, young fellow, you didn't git her here a mite too soon, no, siree. She's due right quick. Carryin' a blood foal, I'm thinkin'—" "Yes. How soon? Tonight?" Tobe Kells made a quick examination. The mare, after a first nervous start, stood easy under his sure and gentle hands. "Late, maybe. First foal?" "Yes." Her owner hesitated and then added, "You give me a hand with her?" "You bet, son. She's a pretty thing, an' she's been a far piece, I'd say. Now you looky here, boy—you sure look like you could 4 Rebel Spurs take some curryin' an' corn fodder under your belt too. You git over to th' Four Jacks. Topham's got him a Chinee cookin' there who serves up th' best danged grub in this here town. Fill up your belly an' take some ease. Then if we do have this little lady gittin' us up tonight, you'll be ready for it.

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