The Bounty Hunters

Rellis eased down next to him and the other spread out along the rocks.

"We ought to have somebody over on the other side," Lew said, "but it's too late now."

"Where are they?" Rellis said.

"They'll show any minute." Lew pointed with the carbine barrel. "Come out right over there and pass within a hundred feet."

Rellis said, "Five against six," considering this.

"They won't have a chance."

"What's this about two of them wearing hats?"

"They was way off when I spotted them but that's what it looked like."

"I never heard of that."

Lew said, "I seen reservation 'Paches wearing hats." He raised himself on his elbows and looked toward the others down the line then to Rellis, "If we do this right," he said, "we got us six hundred pesos in the bank."

Rellis said nothing. He had both a carbine and a shotgun with him, and now he was examining the shotgun. At this range the shotgun would be better, especially if they rode close together.

Suddenly he heard Lew whisper, "Here they come. Get ready."

A lone Apache came out of the trees slowly, cautiously. He rode directly up the middle of the draw, holding his pony to a walk. Near the rise, he angled toward the far side and as he reached the slope, two more appeared from the trees coming out into the open. They sca

Rellis whispered to Lew, "Take him. I'll get the one on the rise." His head turned to Warren. "The one on the other side. Tell the others."

"That's only three of them," Lew whispered hoarsely.

"We can't wait forever…take him!"

Lew squinted down the short barrel as Rellis swung the shotgun toward the Apache who had stopped at the crest of the rise.

Fly

Bowers said, "Did you make out what he told them?"

"He said they'd go on up to that rise…see it way up there over the trees?…and signal for us to follow."

"Doesn't take any chances."

"They never do," Fly

The Apache, with one of their Springfields across his lap, was looking intently toward the rise. He glanced toward them then and muttered gutturally.

Bowers said, "What was that?"

"Mimbre for shut-up," Fly

They kept their eyes on the rise. It was perhaps a quarter of a mile above them, but seemed much closer because of the height. Then one of the Apaches was visible past the dense tops of the trees, a small speck moving gradually up the slope. They watched him reach the crest and stop there, and he seemed to wait there uncertainly before turning his mount to face back down the draw.

He sat erect on the pony's back and raised his hand to shield the glare from his eyes, looking over the trees below him. Then the other hand raised a carbine high overhead and waved it once in a long sweeping motion. And as if on the signal, gunfire cut the stillness, echoing down the draw.

The Apache clung low to the pony and started to move off, but he was sliding to the side and as the horse broke he fell, grabbing wildly for the mane, and rolled down out of sight. There were more shots, but from below they could see no one.

The Mimbre did not hesitate. Fly

"You never know, do you?" Bowers said.

"Not in this country."

"It's either rurales or this Lazair," Bowers considered, and when the scout nodded, he said, "Where's he going now?"

"He'll want to take a look before ru

"With us along?"

"Maybe he's got plans for us," Fly

They moved up into high country behind the Apache who would stop frequently to listen; climbing slowly because there was no trail, winding into natural switchbacks where the ground rose steeper, transforming itself into jagged rock formations. But always there were dense pines scattered, straggling over the slopes, and they kept to the dimness of the trees most of the time. The sunlight clung to the open areas, coldly reflecting on the grotesque stone shapes-shadowed crevices and the brush clumps that stirred lazily when the wind would rise.

And over it all, a stillness.

For a time, as they climbed, the cry of a verdin followed them. But when they looked up into the trees the bird was never there-hidden against the flat shade of a tree limb. A thin, bodiless cry in the stillness. Just before they stopped they saw the verdin suddenly rise from a cholla bush and disappear into the glare, and they did not hear him again.

The Mimbre led them into a hollow that was steep on three sides with shelf rock, ending abruptly only a dozen yards beyond the brush fringe of the entrance. He dismounted, dropping the Springfield, and approached Fly

He looked up at the scout steadily for a moment then moved in close and quickly unstrapped the latigo. He grabbed Fly

Rest easy, Fly

"How do you know?"

"Wouldn't you?" Fly

Bowers relaxed, squatting hunched over the saddle, and his fingers moved idly against the saddle horn. It would be easy to drag the saddle over and untie Fly

"Because he'd have to free our hands to do it," Fly

"Why didn't he kill us?"

"I don't know. Maybe for the same reason Soldado did not."

Bowers frowned. "Which was what?"

"You'd have to ask an Apache," Fly

Bowers said nothing now, listening to the silence, staring up at the shelf rock and the sky directly above them and over the brush fringe at the entrance. The hollow was in deep shadow because now the sun was off to the west. After a time he shook his head wearily.

"It's a god-awful poor way to fight a war," he said.

Fly

"Whatever you want to call it then," Bowers said irritably.