Apache Canyon

Tucker gri

"Sure it was."

Dusk. Harris was speaking to Yeager; Brady listened while he sat by Tucker. Harris said, "You can t be serious, Yeager."

"Ah, but I am. Captain. Nobody budges me until I'm ready to be budged."

"Don't be a fool. You know what they plan to do to this place after dark."

"They won t do it," Yeager said cahnly. "Not after they see you and your crowd ride away. They don't have any fight with me, nor me with them."

Exasperated, Harris turned away. "Will, talk to him."

Brady looked up. Yeager shook his head; and Brady said to Hams, "You can't force him, Justin."

"All right," Harris said disgustedly. "Maybe you're right at that, Yeager. But you can do one thing for us. Take care of Tucker until he's able to ride."

Yeager considered Tucker. His glance revealed nothing of his feelings; his expression was eflPectively concealed behind the thickness of his beard. Presently he shook his head. "Them Apaches ain't fools, Captain. You can bet they've counted noses. They know exactly who's in here. If all of you don't leave, I'm done. He'll have to go with you."

"In that case." Harris said flatly, "we'll all go. If you won t give shelter to a wounded man, Yeager, then You've got no right to shelter yourself. And we can use the firepower you and your boys will add to the party."

Yeager's mouth opened but Harris had his gim out by then. "I don't want to use this, Yeager. I don't even want to think about using it. But I will if I have to. You understand me?"

"Captain-do you know how long I've spent building this place up?"

"Don't look for pity from me, Yeager. I've spent too long watching you play both sides against the middle."

Brady murmured, "I warned you the day would come when you'd have to climb down off the fence on one side or the other. That day's come, Yeager. Make your choice."

Yeager's glance moved back and forth between the two of them. "Aagh," he said, giving up in disgust, and turned away. Harris bolstered his gun. "All right, everybody. Get ready to move."

Brady looked around the room. His glance passed the four boys, Rubio, Harris, Sutherland-one of Sutherland's eyes was closed, the other only half open; his face was a bloody mess, even after Yeager's squaw had done her best to clean him up; he had to support himself by leaning slumped against the wall. All the stiffness had gone out of his back.

And Tucker. Tucker looked up, smiling, his hand loosely draped around the neck of the two-thirds-empty whisky bottle, as though jealously guarding it. "Emmett?" Brady said softly.

"All set." Tucker said, "whenever you are."

But Brady wasn't so sure, looking at the pale shade of Tucker's lips and the fever-brightness of his eyes.

"Don't worry about me, hey?" Tucker breathed. If I fall off my horse, don't let anybody stop on my account."

"I never make that kind of promise," Brady said and stood up. "Pete?"

"Another five minutes," Rubio said. "Then it will be dark enough. When we go, we go fast."

And it was fast.

They managed to get mounted without discovery. Brady flung the corral gate open and spoke a quick, soft command; and then it was all hoofbeats drumming, pounding across the valley, charging into the trees with a few scattered, startled bullets seeking them but falling short or flying wide; and they were into the trees, all of them, and pummeling through the forest. It wouldn't be long, Brady knew, before the Apaches got to their horses and gave chase; but the margin might be just wide enough to let them make good the escape.

They poimded on at a dangerous pace through the darkness. The moon was fattening up, about one-third full. It flickered down through the branches. In the lead, Brady was first to reach the top of the ridge where the fork lay; he made his choice without hesitation and pounded down the left trail, toward the narrow head of Apache Canyon—the most direct, but the most rugged route down to the desert floor. One man posted in the thin split that was the canyon s rocky head could hold off an advancing army. Brady had spoken to no one about it, but he intended to be that man. He hoped that once he had given his companions enough of a lead, he could make good his own escape down the ti'eacherous canyon trail. It was not much of a hope, but he had to gamble on it.

They drummed through the night with no sign of pursuit yet, but it was only a matter of minutes before he heard the first of the gunshots behind them. The Indians would follow them closely, sniping at them; they would not, however, make a battle of it. Not at night; their superstitions forbade it. Brady was gambling on that superstition. There had been times, he knew, when Apaches had ignored it.

Rubio, arm in sling, rode forward at breakneck pace to catch up and spoke across the hoof-pounding distance between them: "I'll drop back and hold the head of the canyon."

"The hell you will," Brady said. "I picked that job for myself. You know the trail down through the canyon better than I do. It's up to you to guide therest of them down safely."

He wasn't sure, but he thought he heard Rubio grumble. Then Rubio's voice lifted again: "Tucker's not doing too good—I think he's started bleedin again."

Brady cursed under his breath but there was no slowing the pace now. He could only pray for Tucker.

The trees gave way to a long barren plateau across which they thundered on straining, panting horses. It was only a part of a mile to the head of the canyon now. Brady said, "Keep going, Pete," and fell out to the side of the column, slowing his pace, letting the others sweep past—eerie shadow-shapes on horseback, careening wildly tlirough the crying night. Behind, he could see the distant flashes of Apache gunfire. At that range, and from the backs, of ru

The Yeager boys went by, four in a row, and in the darkness Brady couldn't tell them apart. And then came Harris, bringing up the rear, Brady let him go by and then fell in behind. A bullet, half spent at this range, whipped audibly past. The Apaches knew full well what was going on up here; their fire increased savagely so that the horizon immediately behind him became like a far-off mountain in an electrical storm. He swung out to the side a little to keep his eye on the column ahead. And that was when he saw a man halfway down the column throw up his arms, utter a brief cry and pitch from the saddle, tumbling in awkward somersaults.

"Keep going," Brady shouted.

He swept forward and when Harris went by, not pausing, he reined in savagely and jumped from the saddle, holding the reins, kneeling over the dovmed man.

"Sutherland," he breathed and touched Sutherland's pulse. There was none. "Maybe you're better off," Brady murmured, and stood up.

Forward, the first of the column was already clattering into the narrow, rocky defile that was the head of Apache Canyon. Brady for this moment stood quite alone on the plateau wdth only Sutherland's corpse for companionship. But behind him the Indians were gaining swiftly. Their bullets thudded into the ground about him. He gathered the reins and swung into the saddle with practiced speed. The horse, sensing the oncoming danger, plunged ahead at an immediate dead run, almost slipping out from under him; he clamped his legs around the horse's barrel and sought the stirrups and leaned forward while Apache gims kept up a fierce ru