"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 grinned at Tucker and tossed the bullet away. "A piece of luck," he said. "I was afraid for a minute that the arrowhead might stay in. We'd have sure been in trouble if that happened." "What now?"
"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."
"Sounds good," Tucker muttered, grunting and grimacing while Brady helped him to his feet. "I hope to hell Yeager's got some whisky." "All set?" "Let's go."
Half-supported by Brady's arm, Tucker hobbled across the few feet to the horse. "You'll have to give me a boost up, I guess."
"Sure." Tucker gritted his teeth, and Brady pushed him up into the saddle. He noticed that the red-haired man was sweating again. Tucker's look troubled him; he knew Tucker was sujffering far more pain than he let on. The wound might be a good deal more serious than Brady had at first suspected.
He said nothing of all this, however. He swung up behind Tucker and gigged the horse gently forward.
It was a slow ride. By the time they reached the yard, Tucker's head was bobbing down against his chest and Brady was holding him upright in the saddle. Brady felt the quick need to get Tucker inside and lay him down. Harris and one of Yeager's brawny sons came out and helped him carry Tucker inside where they stretched him out on a pallet near the fireplace. In one dark corner George Sutherland bulked, his frame held rigid by a massive resentment. Harris was bending over and knelt there, too. Brady looked across the room at Pete Rubio, who stood with his hand protruding from the sling and his rifle stubbornly gripped in his free hand. Brady said, "How's that arm, Pete?''
"I'll make out all right," Rubio said. "How about him?"
"No telling, yet." Brady looked down at Tucker, and then at Sutherland. "You've sure caused a lot of grief for one man," he said. Sutherland pointedly ignored him. The woman went out of the room and presently returned with a coffeepot full of steaming water and a bedsheet, which she proceeded to tear into strips. Then, gently nudging Harris aside, she knelt beside Tucker and went to work with calm and silent competence. Tucker s eyes were closed and his breathing was a hoarse rasp.
When the woman stood up and turned, Brady spoke to her in Apache dialect: "What do you think?'
The woman shrugged and went away. Brady frowned down at the redheaded sergeant. "He didn't seem in such bad shape when I picked him up. I took an arrow out of him. He was pretty cheerful."
"Probably pierced an artery," Harris said. "He's still bleeding through the bandage."
Tucker's eyelids fluttered and he squinted up seeming to have trouble focusing his eyes. "You're a cheerful cuss," he said crankly to Harris, "Has anybody got some whisky, damn it?"
Harris turned. "Yeager? Get some whisky for this man."
"Sure," Yeager said, and in a moment came into the room with a bottle which he handed to Harris. HaiTis tipped it to Tucker's hps. The sergeant drank greedily, then laid his head back with a long sigh. "That's good," he murmured. "That's good." "Want some more?" "No, thanks. Captain." "Hurtmuchr
"Not too much. Listen, Captain--you people have got to get out of here. Those Apaches will burn this place down around your ears."
"You're in no condition to travel, Tucker." "Then leave me be. I ain't going to last long anyway. I can feel it. Get the hell out of here, will you?" Harris smiled vaguely. "Is that an order, Sergeant?" "Yes, sir. It's a goddamn order." Harris patted his shoulder. "You're a good man, Emmett," he murmured, and got to his feet. "Will, how long do you think it will be before they jump us again?"
"Nobody knows but the Lord." Brady raked a match along his pants to ignite it, and ht his cigarette. "I'm a mite surprised they haven't started shooting aheady. I didn't see any sign of them up on the hill."
"Maybe they lost more men than we figured on. I killed two of them and I think I put a slug in another. He kept running but he was limping badly. How about you?"
"Three."
"Tucker?"
Tucker's eyes were half closed. "Four, I think. Give me the bottle, will you?"
Harris stooped to put the bottle in Tucker's hand.
Brady's moody eyes watched the sergeant. "That's nine down, maybe ten." Harris said. "Better luck than we could have hoped for."
"They got overconfident," Brady said. "If they'd put proper watch on their backtrail, they'd have spotted us."
"How many do you think are left?"
"Out of that bunch," Brady said, "maybe ten or twelve. There's a good chance that more will be joining up with them, a few at a time. Word goes through these mountains pretty fast when there's something important."
"Maybe they're waiting for reinforcements, then."
"And maybe they're waiting for nightfall," Brady said, "so they can set fire to this place and then pick us off like sitting ducks when we make a run for it."
Sutherland's hard, precise voice cut across the room resentfully: "There may not be as many of them to reckon with as you suspect. We gave a pretty good accounting of ourselves."
It brought Pete Rubio's head around contemptuously. "We didn't even make a dent. Captain. There's hundreds of them in these mountains."
Sutherland subsided into continuing silent anger Brady gave him one brief, flat glance and tumec back to Harris. "I can only think of one way out—an< it's a damned poor risk."
"Spill it out," Hanis said.
Brady looked around the room. Posted at the windows, Yeager's sons kept careful watch, their rifles ready. The tiny openings plunged the room into deep gloom which was relieved only by the red flickering flames in the fireplace and two lanterns on the far wall.
Brady said, "The minute it gets dark-and not a second later-we could make a try. They probably won t be expecting it quite so fast. We get on our horses and run like hell. We take the short-cut, down tlirough Apache Canyon. It's a rugged trail, but they'd trap us on the long route. If we could beat them LQto the canyon, we could hold them off long enough to reach the floor of the vaUey-theoretically. Once we get onto the desert, I doubt they'll push us farther. Too much chance of it backfiring, like it did the other night when they tried to break Tonio out."