Apache Canyon

As they advanced across the undulating slopes, the sound of gunfire grew louder, and their caution increased. Presently Brady said softly, "Easy, Justin. It's just over the hill now."

Harris nodded and went on, finally halting within pistol shot of the top of the hill. He dismounted and said in a sibilant whisper, "Hold the horses. Tucker. We'll go up for a look."

Brady dismounted and went up the hill on foot with Harris beside him. Behind him, Tucker sat his saddle, keening the roundabout woods.

Approaching the rim, they dropped to hands and knees. The shooting had slackened a bit, but still the volume of fire indicated to Brady that at least a dozen rifles, perhaps more, were busy peppering Yeager's ranch. The heavier roar of a buffalo gun would be Yeager himself, fighting back through the little gunports of his fortified house.

And so it proved to be. They belly-crawled the last fifteen feet and lay flat and hatles5 on the soaked ground, peering down through the thi

It mattered little. The house was ringed, on the fringe of timber, by at least twenty Apache guns.

"They're pretty busy," Brady observed.

"I wonder what they decided was all of a sudden so important at Yeager's?"

"No telling," Brady said "Yeager's got some help inside."

"I noticed." Harris was watching the timber-edge around the ranch. "What do you think, Will?"

"I think Yeager's got his hands full."

"It wouldn't do us any good to go charging through the Apache lines and fort up with Yeager. A few more gims wouldn't do him that much good. We can give him more help from back here, if we do it right."

"Silently," Brady said. "If we can pick a few o them off, one at a time—with knives maybe—it ma) give them something to think about. Long enougl for us to make a break and get Yeager out of then with his crowd."

"It's worth a tiy," Harris said. He was starting t( worm back when Brady stopped him. Brady wa< pointing downhill. "Look in the corral. What do yoi: see?"

"Horses. What of it?"

"Look at that big bay. The one with a white stocking on its left forefoot."

"You've got good eyes," Harris murmured. "I can't tell one horse from another at this distance. What's all the mystery?"

"I could swear that's Sutherland's horse," Brady said quietly.

And Harris's eyes came around slowly to his, widening. "My God!" Harris whispered.

Brady nodded soberly. "He had fifteen men with him when he left the fort." He dug his hand in and started pushing himself back oS the exposed rim of the hill. "Come on."

There were yellow glinting pinpoints in Brady's eyes. "All right?" he asked; and Harris nodded, moving away softly through the trees. Brady turned and looked at Tucker. On Tucker's face was a touch of restlessness, a touch of isolation. His bleak eyes reflected a faint bitter light. Tucker looked at Brady, nodded briefly, and swung away. Ripples of light glinted along the blade of the knife in Tucker's hand. Presently he disappeared into the woods to the right. Brady turned to the left and moved ahead.

Over the hill, the talk of guns kept up in unceasing savagery. Now and then came the boom of Yeager's heavier buffalo gun; the long intervals between Yeager's shots proved that Yeager was choosing his targets with care. Brady walked ahead with long paces, circumnavigating the back of the hill slopes until he estimated that he was almost opposite the point from which he and Harris had overlooked the besieged ranch. Here he turned an abrupt right-angle and went straight up the hill, dropping lower as he approached the summit until, going over the top, he was on his belly once more. He stopped at a point of vantage to consider the trees below. When he rubbed his chin, heavy whiskers stung his hand. Temper pushed at his self control--the rattle of guns continued, battering his ears--but he lay flat and carefully regarded the timber immediately ahead before he moved, and when he did, it was with great care.

The wind carried with it the smell of rain and the sharp, raw scent of the wild comitiy. He crept through the forest, bent low enough for his fingers to touch the ground, and presently, like a dog bristling against a faint unfamiliar scent, he halted. A bright shift crossed his features—a surface sign of excitement—and wrinkles converged around his eyes. Ahead, through the trees, his attention had narrowed upon a squatting brown figure, rifle to shoulder.

Brady turned his head from side to side, putting his cool, almost indifferent glance deliberately on the surrounding trees. No one else was in sight. Ahead of him, the Apache's gun roared and the Apache flipped open the trapdoor breechlock to shove a new cartridge into the Springfield. Brady unlimbered his knife and began his stalk, moving from tree to tree. The Apache, keeping his back to Brady, had his attention held intently on the ranch house across the intei-vening open ground. Brady let his body down flat and crawled slowly, keeping the thickness of a pine trunk between him and the -Indian. The Apache fired another shot, again re- t loaded his .45-70 and took aim, waiting apparently for a target. Brady took his eyes deliberately off the ' Apache's back and again swept the surrounding : thickets, still seeing nothing; he lifted the knife and ' dug in his toes. From a distance of only ten feet, he made his run.

The Apache heard him, but not in time. Brady locked his arm about the man's tlnoat and without hesitation plunged the knife cleanly between the ribs.

The Apache sighed. Breath bubbled in his chest; his back arched with incredible power, all but breaking Brady's hold; then the body went slack, and Brady let it to earth slowly, pulling the knife out and wiping it clean on the ground. The Apache's torso jerked, but a moment's close inspection satisfied Brady that he was dead.

Brady coolly picked up the Indian's loaded rifle, cocked the big hammer, and took aim on a ringlet of rising gunsmoke that was a quarter-way around the circle of trees. When that Indian gun fired again, he had his target, and fired. The big .45-70 recoiled against his shoulder-and he saw a half-naked figure fall plunging out of the trees.

Brady rammed the carbine muzzle-first into the ground, thus blocking the barrel with mud and making the gun a death-trap for any passing Indian who might pick it up and try to shoot it. Then he laid the gun down beside the dead Apache and moved off silently through the shadowed timber.

His face was turned harsh and raw by the violence he was embroiled in. Threading the trees, he caught sight of another kneeling figure firing upon the ranch house; he again dropped flat and again wormed forward.

But this Indian was not so easily to be caught from behind. At irregular intervals the Apache's head turned while he watched the roundabout trees with care. Brady froze, flat against the earth. When the Indian took aim on the house again, he moved quickly forward, halting again when the Apache had fired and reloaded and turned to inspect the trees.

Brady placed himself behind a tree and gauged the distance between him and the Indian, and reversed the knife in his hand, balancing it, holding it by the tip. The Indian bent over his rifle, taking aim on the house; and Brady's arm went back, grew taut, and flung the knife with full power.

It sank hilt-deep in the back of the Indian's neck. Brady's flesh broke out in sudden cold sweat; his arm was msty and it was, he knew now, through luck only that he had struck the Indian. He had aimed for the back, not the neck. Breath oozed through his nostrils.