"Naw. I'd kill you before it got me. Besides, you drank first, and I poured. So you've been to sea."
"Yes."
"I didn't want to say anything to Colorado, but a few of us have been told to keep an eye out for a stranger calling himself Ghost. Seems to me you're mighty overdue."
"It wasn't a pleasure cruise."
"Delays beyond your control. I know what you mean. I was on a patrol once on the Rio Grande. It was supposed to last a month. They ended up chasing us west - we didn't make it back till Christmas, five months overdue. My wife was collecting death pension already."
"So the Kurians have the river?" Valentine asked.
"The whole damned valley. Mexican Kurians, they call 'em the Alcaldes, like they was old aristocracy or something. Good farm land, some of the best in the world. The folks there smuggle us out what they can. How are things up north? We don't get news unless it comes roundabout."
"Hard, but Southern Command is holding out."
"And what were you out for? Intelligence?"
"I'll be happy to tell you if your colonel or Mr. Fields okays it."
Ranson winked with one whole side of his face. " 'Loose lips,' whatever that means. My dad used to say it when he was playing his cards close to the chest. Personally, I like a set of loose lips. 'Specially if they're attached to a genuine redhead."
Two more riders arrived with Colorado at the dawn. "Sergeant Hughes says we're supposed to cut our patrol short and see this man back to the Academy."
"Kind of him," Ranson said. "Switch to the relief horse. I expect they want him there pronto. Wish we had a spare for you, young man."
"I expect he can run some more," Colorado said. "He did pretty well there at the end on the road. I'd like to see that trick again."
While the sergeant passed on his report on the patrol, Colorado readied the horses, placing the saddlebags and rifle sheaths on the patient animals. Ranson mounted, still chewing on a snatched breakfast.
They set off, Colorado in the lead and moving his horse at a brisk walk, quickly enough so Valentine had to force himself to hurry at a pace just below a jog, which he found increasingly annoying.
"I'm going to run, it's easier than walking like this," he said, breaking into a trot.
Colorado kicked his horse to a trot, and Ranson followed. The sergeant smiled at some inner joke. Valentine set his jaw, and ran faster, passing the trotting horse at a steady lope.
"What the hell?" Colorado said. He touched his heels to the horse's flanks, and it broke into a canter.
Valentine had to pour it on to keep up with the cantering horse, but he did so. His whole body seemed suffused in warmth, a warmth that slowly grew uncomfortable. Even a Wolf couldn't move at this rate for long. His legs filled with a fiery ache, and his heart beat like a duck's wings. The
sweating horse tired of the race, as well, and kept trying to break into a gallop.
"Cut it out, Colorado," Ranson yelled from the dust-trail. "You'll kill the damn horse or our friend."
Perspiration crusted with dust coated Valentine's face, but he kept pace until Colorado halted, fighting the urge to lean forward to catch his wind. He slowed back down to a walk matching the horse's, controlling his breath as best he could.
"Sheeet," Colorado said. "They shouldn'ta called you Ghost, it shoulda been Shanks. I never seen-hell, never heard of a man able to run like that."
Valentine concentrated on breathing.
"You done treating our ally like a bastard?" Ranson asked.
"Ally? We're taking him under guard, ain't we?"
"If them Reapers showed up, he'd be guarding us, not the other way around. Don't you know a Hunter when you meet one, you damned fool?"
"Ha! My pa used to say those Hunters were just good liars, is all. There's nothing to that story."
"Apple didn't fall far from the tree." Ranson said under his breath. But his eyes shared the joke with Valentine, knowing the Cat heard.