Apache Canyon

"So you took up wdth Tucker," he replied, appearing untouched. "Sergeant Emmett Tucker—quite a comedown, wasn't it?"

"So you knew about that."

"Purely by accident. It didn't last long with Tucker, did it, Eleanor?"

Her head shook back and forth. There was a light deep in her eyes—perhaps it was desperation. "Emmett is a good man," she said tonelessly, 'iDut he's troubled. He's got too much in his past. There are things he's too proud to forget. It was no good between us. We both had to force ourselves."

"So Tucker went back to the bottle," he observed, "and you turned to Justin Harris." "Justin is a man, Will."

"Sure. And he's already got a girl."

Her lips curled wryly. "Do you think I don't know that? Every time I approach him, he makes it all too clear."

Not without gentleness, Brady pushed her hand away from his arm and stood up. He took a restless pacing turn around the room, hands rammed in his pockets, and came back to take a stand looking down at her. She remained crouched before the chair where he had been sitting. Her body shd back slowly until she was sitting crosslegged on the floor, head thrown back, eyes shining up at him defiantly. She lifted the glass to her lips and swallowed and put the empty glass down.

"What do you want from me, Will?"

"I told you. Leave Harris be."

"I can't. I've got to have somebody to turn to."

"Turn to me, then, if you've got to. But leave Harris alone."

She looked up, surprised. Then surprise faded to bitter, jaded disappointment on her face. "You don't want me."

"I want you," he admitted. "I always did. Fut I never figured we had a chance of working out."

"Why not, Will?" Her voice rose. "Why can't we?"

"Tucker and me—I've got my own memories, too. But it's not just that, Eleanor. You're an officer's wife. I can handle that, but Justin Harris can't. That's what you don't see. A thing like this can wreck him —and Justin's too good an officer to have his career smashed by you or me or anybody like us."

Her face moved; thoughtfulness replaced the bitter downturn of lips. "You think a lot of him, don't you?"

"Sure. You said it yourself—he was the only man you could find. The only real man on this post. I respect him for that."

"Enough to sacrifice yourself." "By letting you hang on me when you need somebody to hang on to? No, Eleanor. I'm not that much of a saint."

She shook her head. Sitting on the floor, she looked like nothing so much as a spoiled little girl, just emerging from a tearful tantrum. She said, "I don't understand any of this. Will—I don't understand you."

He picked up his glass from the table and sipped from it, speaking slowly: "I saw your husband ride off the post a little while ago. To clear his head. He'd passed out in the stable while he was hunting for Harris. He was primed to pick a fight, I guess. It will probably wear off by morning. When the two of you first came here, I thought he was too strait-laced, too spit-and-pohsh, but I figured he had the makings of a fair officer and a fair man. I figured wrong. I've watched him too long to give him any more chances." "That's why you've changed your mind?" "Partly."

She shook her head. "I don't want it that way. Will. Either you want me or you don't. Leave George out of that. What's between you and me has nothing to do with him."

He drank the whisky down and stood regarding her a moment longer. "All right," he said. "Do what you want to do—but stay away from Harris. You hear me?"

She came to her feet. All her movements were supple, graceful, attracting all his male instincts. "Wait," she said.

He stood still.

"What do you want me to do. Will?"

"I've already told you."

"Is that all?"

He faced her squarely, recognizing her weaknesses for what they were. He said, "I may be leaving the post next week. My contract is up.''

Her expression changed. She looked slowly around the room as though it were unfamiUar to her. Finally she said quietly, "I want to go with you."

"To be with me? Or to get away from George Sutherland?"

Finally she said, "I can't say. Will. I'm not sure."

He turned toward the door. With his hand on the latch, he looked over his shoulder at her. "You'll have to figure that out for yomself, Eleanor. I want you for me, not for the freedom I may seem to oflFer you. The horse ranch in the Santa Catalinas will be a lot tougher than this place."

"I don't know. Will."

He nodded and pulled open the door. The last thing he said before he left was, "While you're making up your mind, stay clear of Justin Harris, hey?"

"All right, Will. I don't need him for anything, now."

He left her that way, standing alone in the center of the dusty parlor. He pulled the door shut behind him and walked into the night, head bowed in thought, troubled by the memories that flitted past his vision, troubled by the uncertainties of the present and the dangers of the future.

When he left the stable, having taken a look at the passed-out Sutherland and having said good night to Brady, Justin Harris crossed the compound to his quarters and sat down on the edge of his cot to tug off his boots. Hard, bright anger continued to course through his veins and he knew better than to try to sleep. He lay back with a week-old Tucson newspaper and tried to read, but after half an hour he gave up and threw the paper aside, getting up and putting on his boots again and tramping around the little room until presently he flung the door open and went out onto the parade ground.

The quarter moon was almost directly overhead. Dimly against the lights of the camp-town beyond the post he could see the figure of the guard slowly moving back and forth across the road. Mrs. Mc-Cracken s tomcat came prowling around the edge of the building, stared at him with yellow-gleaming eyes and vanished on soundless paws. Harris, after a moment's consideration, walked down the row of houses, turning up the walk to Sutherland's house.

Lamplight shone through the window; he was startled to see the silhouette of a woman close against the glass—Eleanor Sutherland. For a moment he thought she was watching him, but then he realized she could see nothing but reflection against the glass from inside the lighted room. He looked past her, seeing for the first time the figure of a man sprawled comfortably in a parlor chair—Will Brady.

It drew him up straighter. After a moment Eleanor turned her back to the window and the curtains fell into place, obscuring whatever was transpiring inside.

It had been in Harris' mind to confront both Sutherland and Eleanor and straighten out the whole tangle of intrigues that seemed to be tightening around them all. But now it was apparent that Sutherland was not yet home, and that Eleanor was, in her expert fashion, entertaining a guest.

Harris shrugged. It meant little to him; he was mildly surprised to see Brady here after Brady's hard words of earher in the evening. But it was not Harris's affair, and he had little interest in Eleanor Sutherland. He turned back and walked toward the gate.

The parade ground was softly still. His boots scuffed up little eddies of dust. At the gate, the sentry came to attention, presenting arms. Harris saluted and was going past when a thought stopped him, turning him around. "Trooper."

"Yes, sir?"

"Have you seen Captain Sutherland tonight?"