The sun advanced, going in and out of sight past the moving breakup of clouds. Fhckering shadows shortened along the ground and then, chmbing a slope through a thick stand of pines, Brady reined in abruptly so that Tucker almost ran into the tail of his horse.
"What's up. Will?"
"Shooting. Hear it?"
The three listened with keen ears. "I hear it," Harris said, and Tucker echoed the statement.
"About a mile and a half ahead," Brady guessed. ''That would put it just about at Yeager's place."
"Fine," Tucker said. "Fine."
Brady looked at Harris. "You're in command."
Harris grunted. "Thanks for reminding me." He turned silent and for a moment they listened to the steady distant talk of rifles, echoing across the mountains. "Let's take a look," Harris said, and led the way forward at a cautious pace. Brady looked back and saw the grin across Tucker's mouth that did not spread to the man's eyes; Brady's jaws tightened and he gigged his horse forward.
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 thinning timber to the wide cleared area that marked Yeager's outfit. Yeager's house bloomed with gunfire; Brady counted eight guns firing from various positions within the house, and that made him frown: Yeager had himself, his wife and four boys. That made six. Who were the other two riflemen?
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.