Apache Canyon

Brady wheeled his horse away from the house. Rubio, leading the bay horse with their captive, had already moved from the corral fence. Brady caught up and said, "Wait a minute, Pete," and dismounted, taking a rawhide piggin string from his ovra saddle. He walked across the few feet separating him from the mounted Indian and used the piggin string to last Tonio's left foot firmly into the stirrup. "That should keep you from jumping off," he observed, and went back to his own horse. "Pete, you'd be surprised how fast an Apache can run with his hands tied behind."

"As fast as a Navajo, I reckon," Rubio answered with a grin. Rubio's mother had been a Navajo.

"Don't do anything foolish," Brady said to Tonio.

Tonio was looking away, looking steadily at the higher mountain peaks that lifted darkly behind them.

Brady shrugged. "Let's go."

Warner Cole, Major, U.S. Cavalry, commanding, stood on the breathless-hot veranda of his office and leaned a hard, thick shoulder against the doorjamb. For a while his attention idly followed the movements of a troop of C Company soldiers, performing dismounted drill under the hoarsely bellowed orders of Sergeant Emmett Tucker. The troop marched across the far end of the parade ground, performed an about-face, marched the other way, and about-faced again. The major put his glance on Tucker, the tall red-haired sergeant, and allowed himself a moment of speculative regret, which quickly came, and as quickly went. Tucker's problems had to remain his own.

Major Cole's glance drifted away from the drilling troopers and swept the borders of the parade ground —flat-roofed adobe structmes, weathered into the common yellow-tan of the land, with here and there a spot of shade under a long porch roof.

Beyond the far end of the parade ground stood the sutler's store, and then the civilian compound, formed of one large saloon, a number of civilian houses, and then the wikiup camp of the Agency Apaches who squatted outside the post hoping for work, food and medical care. At best it was a dusty, forlorn-looking outpost. Behind the saloon sat the squatting tents and makeshift frame dwellings of the ranchers who had moved into the fort's protection after Inyo had jumped the reservation and begun his campaign of horse-raids, ranch-burning raids, and killings. Right now the major could see on the saloon porch a gathering of men in soiled vests and patched fla

The major shook his head and batted dust from his sleeves, and turned inside the office.

Here it was even more stifling than on the porch. He dipped a long-handled tin cup into a water-olla suspended from the ceiling in a rope net, and drank long of the cool Hquid. He saw the dark sweat-circles at his armpits and glared at the sergeant-major. The sergeant-major, Sean McCracken, glared back at him. McCracken sat well behind his desk, chair tilted back. His face was broiled crimson and his belly hung over his belt like a loose sack of flour.

The major wiped sweat from his face and pawed aimlessly through papers on top of McCracken's desk; he met McCracken's blank stare and went to the window to look out past the line of cottonwoods a half mile distant that marked the course of the shallow Smoke River.

Many miles beyond, the Arrowheads lifted their dusty-blue shoulders against the skyline. Somewhere up there was Inyo.

The major grunted again and went back into his own office and looked out that window. Heat waves undulated above the cactus-studded plain.

Three riders were coming forward from the direction of the Arrowheads, three horsemen in a close-packed bunch. At this distance the major couldn't make them out, but if it was Will Brady, the presence of the third rider meant they had recaptured Tonio.

One bright spot in a dreary day, the major thought bleakly. He sat down in the chair behind his desk and found before him a document awaiting his approval, an officer's request for transfer, neatly written out in the handwi-iting of George Sutherland, Captain, B Company.

Major Cole allowed himself a sigh, after which he muttered, "Another ritual to be performed," and wrote at the bottom of the transfer appHcation: Request denied, and his signature. He carried the paper out to the front office and put it on McCracken's desk and said, "Give this to Captain Sutherland when he comes in."

"Yes, sir," McCracken said.

"I think I just saw Brady and Rubio bringing in the prisoner. Tell Brady to drop the Indian off at the guardhouse and report to me."

McCracken nodded; his loose chin wobbled. Sweat was a glisten on his lobster-red flesh. "Hot and close," McCracken observed, to no one in particular.

The major agreed, and was turning away from the sergeant-major's desk when a man's shadow filled the doorway and Captain George Sutherland, his brass aglitter, stood at attention with his garrison cap smartly under his aim. "Major—"

"Come on back. Captain," the major said tiredly, and moved with lethargic steps back into his office. By the time he seated himself, Sutherland had pulled the door shut behind him. Shutting that thin, bhster-

dry door would hardly keep any sounds from the outer office. The major smiled. Besides, McCracken knew as much as any man what went on within the confines of Fort Dragoon.

Sutherland was standing stiffly at attention. "I won't beat around the bush," the major said. "IVe turned you down again, Captain." Of all his officers, Sutherland was the only one whose first name Major Cole never felt free to use.

Sutherland's face was round and smooth, almost giving an impression of baby-softness but in contradiction to this, he always carried himself with stiff back and stern demeanor. Sutherland was not a martinet, Major Cole privately observed; but it might not take too much to make him one.

"As you know," the major continued, "there are no officers on the post capable of replacing you at the moment, Captain. Furthermore, even if I approve your transfer, the War Department is certain to turn you down. The army is overloaded with officers, as you well know."

"Yes, sir," Sutherland said. His eyes remained straight ahead, fixed on the wall above the major's head.

"For Pete's sake, relax a little, can't you? At ease. Captain."

"Thank you, sir," Sutherland said with exact courtesy. He moved his left foot aside and clasped his hands behind him. The rigidity of his body did not change.

Major Cole allowed himself a small grimace; he felt the sticky wetness of his shirt against the chair; he stood and went to the window and looked out while he spoke. "I realize this is not a glory post, Captain. But at least it offers the possibihty of action--which is more than a headquarters desk job would give you. I have asked before, and I'll ask again now--I know you're not a coward, Captain, and I'd like to know your reason for requesting transfer."

"My reasons are personal. Major."

"Personal in what way?"

"I'm afraid I'd prefer to keep that to myself, sir. The major, without looking around, shook his head gently. "Lx)Osen up a little, can't you?" "Is there anything else. Major?" The major put his back to the window, facing Sutherland. "Most of our wives don't like it here. Captain. Yours isn't the only one to find this place well-nigh unbearable."

Sutherland's sensuous lips curled a trifle; he said, "I don't know of any particular desire to leave on my wife's part, Major. She's never suggested it to me." Major Cole considered the man. He could not make Sutherland out; he could not understand the man or his motives. Finally he said, "All right, Captain. I'll respect your wishes in the matter; I won't press it further. When I feel we can spare you, I'll approve your transfer request. Until then, as you know, we have an Indian problem, and this post is awaiting orders from General She