Drew was jarred into an answer. "You said----"
Rennie sighed. "Do any of you young fire-eaters ever listen to more than one tenth of what any of your elders say? I _am_ saying and making it plain: If you make a steady practice of trading punches with a trooper or with any one else because you take a dislike to his face, the way his ears stick out, how he walks or talks, or what color coat he wore in the war, then you can roll your beds and ride out--the sooner the better.
"Reese Topham tells me that he explained the local situation to you, and you appeared to understand it then. Any difficulty with the army could have serious consequences, not just for you, but for the Range as well. This time you were not the aggressors. But after being forewarned, if it happens again, I'll be hard to convince that you were in the right. The war's over--keep on remembering that. This is new country where it doesn't, or shouldn't, matter whether a man wore a blue coat or marched under the Stars and Bars. You're far too young to let the past cut off the future. Wars can finish a whole way of life for a man...." His eyes no longer held Drew's; he was looking beyond toward the half-open door or perhaps at something that he alone could see. "You have to learn to throw away broken things, not cherish them. Never look back!" That dry, tired voice took on a fierce intensity. Then he was back with them again.
"Two Kirbys riding for the same spread is going to be rather confusing. You are Drew, and you are Anson--Anson--" He repeated the name. "What part of Texas are you from?"
"Pa had him a spread down near th' San Sabe 'fore th' Comanches came. He was Anson, too--in th' Rangers for a while, Pa was."
"Tall man, with a lot of freckles and red hair? Best rider in Miggs' Company----" It was half question, half assertion.
"You knew Pa!" Anse shouldered past Drew. "That was Pa right enough. He rode with Lieutenant Miggs in the Mex War."
Hunt Rennie was smiling. Once more years spun away from him. "I ought to know him, son. He toted me across his saddle for a mighty long five miles on a blistering hot day, I having as much to say about the matter as a sack of corn, and being three times as heavy in spite of a starvation diet. Yes, I'll remember Anson Kirby. He and his squad were the first Americans I ran into after I broke out of a filthy prison. Funny though"--he glanced at Drew--"I don't remember his mentioning a brother. You _are_ his nephew?"