The Kentuckian was sure of only one thing right now, he was not going to enter a town or a stretch of country where Hunt Rennie was _the_ big man, and claim to be Rennie's unknown son. Maybe later he could come to a decision about his action. But first he wanted to be sure. There might well be no place for a Drew Rennie in Hunt Rennie's present life. They were total strangers and perhaps it must be left that way.
There was no reason for him to claim the kinship. He was independent. Drew Kirby had a mule and two good horses, maybe three by tomorrow. Aunt Marianna had insisted that he accept part of the Mattock estate, even though his Kentucky grandfather had left him penniless. He'd made his choice without hesitation: the colt Shiloh, the mare Shadow, and she bred to Storm Cloud for what should be a prize foal. His aunt had made him take more--gold in his money belt, enough to give him a start in the west. He was his own man, not Rennie's son, unless he chose....
Two more lamps had been lighted in the cantina. Drew sat down at a table. There was a swish of full skirts, and he looked up at a girl. She smiled as if she liked what she saw of this brown-faced stranger with quiet, disciplined features and eyes older than his years.
"You like, _señor_ ... tequila ... whiskee ... food?"
"Food, _señorita_. You see a most hungry man."
She laughed and then frowned anxiously. "Ah, but, _señor_, this is a time when the cupboard is, as you would say, bare! When the wagons come--then what a difference! Now, tortillas, frijoles, maybe some fruit ... sweet for the tongue, like wine in the throat. Perhaps an egg--"
"To me that is a feast." Drew fell into the formal speech which seemed natural here. "You see one who has done his own trail cooking too long."
"Ah--_el pobrete_--poor man! Surely there will be an egg!" She was gone and Drew began covertly to study the other men in the room.
In any western town the cantina, or saloon, was the meeting place for masculine society. Even if Hunt Rennie did not appear bodily in the Four Jacks tonight, Drew could pick up information about his father merely by keeping open ears. As far away as Santa Fe he had heard of Rennie's Range and _Don_ Cazar (the name the Mexicans had given its owner, Hunt Rennie).
