Apache Canyon

He scuttled forward and knelt, regarding the Apache. The man's loose, blind expression was plain enough evidence that he was dead. When Brady removed his knife, he put his back to the dead man and surveyed the circle of timber, the long meadow, the defiant fortress that was Yeager's house.

And it suddenly occurred to him that there was a difference in the hard-clattering sound of the day. The volume of fire from the Indian positions had decreased sharply.

It took little wondering to figure out the reason for it. He himself had accounted for three of the Apaches. If Harris and Tucker had done half as well, the Indian's force would have been reduced by a fourth or a third. Brady's lip corners turned down in a passionate display of bitterness. He was sick-physically sick-of killing, of death. He stared bleakly through the trees, and it came to him that the rate of fire from he timber-circle was continuing to decrease. It was impossible to befieve that Harris and Tucker were accounting for it. Then, suddenly, the woods were quiet.

The riflemen within the house realized it, too; losing their targets, they quit firing. A sti'ange, eerie silence blanketed the valley. Brady nodded grimly. The Apaches, aware that something had gone wrong, had fallen back to reassemble and hold council.

Acrid fumes of sulphur instated his nostrils. The smell of gunsmoke was thick. A commotion broke out of the trees across the valley, and a moment's consideration told Brady that it was Harris, mounted and leading the other horses at breakneck speed into Yeager's corrals.

When Hanis's run drew no fire, Brady left the woods and dogtrotted across the meadow, waving his hat in signal to those within the house.

Coming out onto the porch, standing aside from the door, Yeager ran his hand down his back length of beard and said, "I guess you gents must be the reason why those bucks lit out."

Brady followed Harris up to the house. "They haven't gone far," Brady said, "They'll be back pretty soon."

Yeager shmgged his big shoulders. "Let 'em. I can hold them off all summer if they want to tiy me. There's a well inside the house and I've got plenty of grub stored up. Plenty of gunpowder, too."

"All it will take," Brady said mildly, "is a couple of kerosene-soaked fire-arrows landing on your roof." "I thought of that," Yeager repHed. "They can't get close enough to the house to shoot fire arrows. It's all open land-and I can cut them down before they get within bow-and-arrow range." "At night?"

"Most likely," Yeager said complacently. His supreme self-confidence was irritating.

Throughout this exchange, Harris had been surveying the hills with a troubled glance. "I wonder where Tucker is? Do you suppose anything happened to him?

"Give him a little time," Brady said. "If he doesn't show up, I'll go looking for him."

"All right," Harris said, still troubled. He turned toward Yeager. "Who's inside the house, Yeager?"

"Couple of your soldier boys, and my family."

"Is Captain Sutherland in there?"

"I am." Sutherland came through the door, limping very slightly. A rifle hung in his hand. His round face was streaked with dirt and sweat; his uniform was torn and filthy. He favored Harris with a mocking salute and came to a stand wearily, feet braced wide apart, his lip curled a little.

Harris looked at him with a bit of awe. "Where are the rest of your men, Sutherland?"

That was when Pete Rubio came out onto the porch. Rubio had a little difficulty moving; his arm was bandaged tightly, hung in a sling across his chest. He too grasped a rifle.

"I'm the rest of his men, Captain," Rubio said.

Sutherland spoke with tight stiffness: "We were ambushed by a superior force and cut to pieces."

"Where?" Harris demanded.

"Rifle Gap."

Without hesitation, Harris turned his glance on Pete Rubio. "Is he telling the truth, Rubio?"

"Pait of it," Rubio drawled. When he looked at Sutherland there was ill-concealed hatred in his eyes. "It wasn't in Rifle Gap, it was beyond Rifle Gap. And we wouldn't have been ambushed if the captain here hadn't decided he knew more about Indian fighting than Indians do." Rubio spat a dark bitter stream upon the porch.

Sutherland glared at him, not speaking.

"So you made a break for it," Brady said, 'and the Apaches chased you this far."

Rubio nodded, spitting again. "We couldn t shake them loose. They kept picking us off-we traveled all night, taking the wounded with us. What you see standing here is all that's left." Dry malice filled his eyes when he looked at Sutherland.

"I see," Harris said quietly. He was plainly shocked. Brady felt the bitter sting in his belly of unwilling belief. "This washes you up, Sutherland," he said, turning away. "I'm going up to look for Emmett Tucker."

"Good luck," Harris breathed. Walking away, Brady heard Harris say, "You can consider yourself under arrest. Captain."

Brady mounted his horse and swung away from the yard. In his mind lifted a dismal anger against the sour irony that had allowed Sutherland, who had killed his command as surely as if he'd taken a gun to them, make good his escape.

Tracks of pain streaked Tucker's eyes. He lay sprawled on the ground with the shaft of an arrow rising from his side. His lips were pale.

Brady got down and went to him, carrying a canteen, whipping out his kerchief. He soaked the cloth and put it to Tucker's mouth. Tucker looked up with silent gratitude.

Brady considered the wound. "The arrowhead's caught between a couple of ribs," he said. "That makes you lucky-the ribs kept it from going in deeper." After a further moment's self-deb ate, he said, "Listen to me, Emmett."

Tucker didn't blink. Brady swept the roundabout timber witli a quick sui-vey and said, "I can t move you until we get that arrow out. Otherwise it might work its way into your lung. You understand me?"

Tucker gri

"It will be rough."

Tucker's head moved in a slight nod. "Got a spare bullet?"

Brady punched a cartridge out of his belt-loop and put it gently into Tucker's mouth. Tucker worked it around with his tongue until it sat crosswise between his teeth.

Brady said, "All right?"

Tucker repeated his nod.

Bracing his knee against Tucker's ribs, Brady took firm hold with both hands on the arrow shaft. Tucker's eyes remained open, staring with combined interest and pain at the operation.

His voice, muffled around the bullet, croaked impatiently: "Come on—come on."

"Yeah," Brady grunted, and yanked.

Tucker made no sound at all. Brady regained his balance, holding the bloody arrow, and had the impression that Tucker hadn't even bhnked. But sweat stood out on Tucker's forehead. Blood welled from the wound; Brady took the soaked kerchief and pressed it against the flesh.

"Hold this in place—tight as you can."

Tucker's hand came up and pressed the kerchief down. Slowly it turned dark. Tucker's mouth opened a Uttle and the bullet fell out'. When Brady picked it up, he saw that Tucker had almost bitten it in two. He gri

"You're going for a little ride. Down to Yeager's. No telling how soon those Apaches will be back." "I'm game," Tucker said. "Take it easy, that's all." "Easy as we can," Brady replied. "Keep that compress held tight. When we get down the mountain, we'll bandage you up properly."