"Hey, Sarge, can I see you a minute?" came a hail from without.
"You manage." Muller made it more order than request as he left.
Drew sat alone with Shannon, one hand on the boy's shoulder to steady him. He was aware of movement behind him. If the fellow at the back table had been dozing earlier, he was roused now.
"Where did you git them spurs?"
Drew turned, his lips shaped a name, tried again, and got it out as a hoarse whisper. "Anse! Don't you know me, Anse?"
He saw eyes lift from the floor level, the scarred cheek under a ragged fringe of beard; and then astonishment in the other's expression became a flashing grin.
"Drew—Drew Rennie! Lordy, it's sure enough Drew Rennie!"
Drew was on his feet. His hands on the other's shoulders pulled him forward into a rough half embrace. "Anse!" He swayed to the joyous pounding of a fist between his shoulder blades. "I thought you were dead!" he somehow gasped.
"An' I seen you go down; a slug got you plumb center!"[pg 079] the Texan sputtered. "Rolled 'round a bush an' saw you git it! But for a ghost you're sure lively!"
"Caught me in the belt buckle," Drew recounted that miracle of the war. "Knocked me out; didn't really touch to matter, though."