"I'm no breaker, suh. I've gentled, yes--but eastern style."
"Breaking horses can be brutal, though we don't ride with red spurs on the Range. Suppose we try some of the eastern methods and see how they work on our wild ones. Do you think you can do it?"
"A man can't tell what he can do until he tries." Drew still hedged.
There was a trace of frown now between Rennie's brows. "You told Topham you wanted work." His tone implied that he found Drew's present hesitancy odd. And--from _Don_ Cazar's point of view--it was. Tubacca was still in a slump; the rest of the valley held about as many jobs for a man as Drew had fingers on one hand. The Range was the big holding, and to ride there meant security and an established position in the community. Also, perhaps it was not an offer lightly made to an unknown newcomer.
"I can't promise you blue-grass training, suh. That has to begin with a foal." He hoped Rennie would credit his wavering to a modest appraisal of his own qualifications.
As his father repeated the expression Drew realized the slip of tongue he had made. And if he took the job, there might be other slips, perhaps far more serious ones. But to refuse, after Topham had spoken for him ... he was caught in a pinch with cause for suspicion closing in on either side.
"I was in Kentucky for about a year after the war. I went to stay with a friend--"
Was Rennie watching him too intently? No, he must ride a tighter rein on his imagination. There was no reason in the wide world why _Don_ Cazar should expect him to be anyone except Drew Kirby.
"Yes, suh. Didn't have anythin' to go back to there. Thought I'd try for a new start out here." There was the story of several thousand veterans. Rennie should have heard it a good many times already.
"Well, come and try some blue-grass training on our colts. And should you let this stud of yours run with a picked _manada_ of mares, I could promise good fees."
"Suppose I said yes if the fees were some of the foals--of my own choosing, suh?" Drew asked.
Rennie ran a finger across the brand which scarred the gray's hide. "Spur R--that's a new one to me."
"My own. Heard tell as how there's a custom of the country that a slick this old can be branded and claimed by anyone bringing him in. I wasn't going to lose him that way should he do any straying, accidental or intentional."