"We have better uses for our ammunition than to protect reckless adventurers," Murray snapped. Edge studied him more closely and recognized in the haunted eyes and drawn lines of his pallid face the sign of a man nearing the end of a short tether. Then he glanced around the fort lit by the fading light of a dying day and saw a variety of similar expressions upon the faces of both soldiers and civilian townspeople as they moved about the compound. And not only was it in the faces of the men and women that their fear was evident. It was apparent in the cautious manner they moved and the quick, suspicious turning of heads and reaching for guns that was triggered by each sound not immediately recognizable.
"You expecting it to hit the fan soon?" Edge asked when he had finished his survey.
Murray suddenly developed a nervous tic in his right cheek and he quickly raised a hand to try to conceal it. He looked up and over the western wall of the fort and drew in his breath for a long sigh. "My guess is tonight. Fort Lawrence—twenty miles north of here—was overrun last night and every man was slaughtered. Then at dawn today the town of Rocky Haven was wiped out—that's the next town east on the stage trail. The army has been put on to a war footing. Where did you have your run-in with the Apaches, Mr. Edge?"
Edge ran a finger down the flank of his horse and brought it away cloaked in a sweat foam. "Two hours hard riding from here. Don't reckon anybody could do it in less."
"How many of them?"
Edge picked up the reins and began to lead the animal across the compound toward the stables. Murray fell in beside him.
"Three hundred and maybe more. Not less."
"Any rifles?"
Edge spat. "They weren't using them on English."
Murray looked at him sharply. ''The Apaches captured Fallowfield?"
"Yeah. And they've got a white girl as well. Seems she was the girl of the chief s dreams until she got out of line. Now she's a kind, of nightmare with big boobs."
"Weren't they killed?" Murray asked, then snapped a command to a nearby soldier who sprang forward to take care of Edge's mount.
Edge relinquished the responsibility gratefully. "Maybe."
"What is that supposed to mean?"
Edge shrugged and nodded toward the stockade in one comer of the compound, its spiked topped fence and substantial gate patrolled by two armed guards. "Little Cochise still in the pokey, Colonel?"
"Of course. He's our insurance. What do you mean; maybe?"
"Indians were playing some kind of Apache roulette with English and then the girl riled them. I tangled with a couple of braves and that sort of interrupted the proceedings. I had to beat it. English and the white squaw weren't very healthy when I left, but they were still breathing. My guess would be that English, at least, is still alive. But I bet he's not making with the smart lip anymore."
Murray's haggard face took on a thoughtful frown. "Was Chief Cochise at the camp?"
'Wasn't close enough to ask him who he was," Edge answered. "But the braves who jumped me tried to take me alive and kicking."
''They want hostages?"
"Exchange is no robbery," Edge pointed out.
Murray scowled. "I'm not about to give up an Apache sub-chief for a no-good British gambler."
Edge grinned at him without humor. ''If you want the rank you got to be prepared to make the decisions, Colonel," he muttered. "Any chance of a bed and a bath?"
"Use my washroom," Murray allowed without enthusiasm. "You can sleep in the men's quarters. There's plenty of room. We’re at less than half strength."
"What about the townspeople?"
"You saw what was left of them," Murray reminded. "We also found a man with only half an arm left and another with his eyes gouged out."
Edge spat into the dust. "They say there's worse trouble at sea."
Murray eyed him with abject bitterness. "Don't you have any feelings, mister?" he asked scornfully.
"Yeah," Edge replied, moving away toward the Colonel's quarters. "I feel dirty and tired."
The rooms in which the fort's commanding officer lived were austere and impersonal, fitted out to army regulations. Like the man who lived in them, they were cold, hard and lacking anything not dictated by the book. But Edge took no note of the decor or furnishings and did not concern himself with their function as a pointer to the psychological make-up of Colonel Murray. He moved directly through the quarters to the small washroom and chose to, take his bath in cold water rather than go to the trouble of heating it. After he had soaped the dried sweat from his body he luxuriated in the water for a long time, allowing its cool caress to ease the tension out of him. Then, when he felt fully relaxed, he was able to apply a cool and analytical brain to the million dollars-worth of Mexican gold and how to get it. And, he soon came to realize, in such ideal circumstances, the answer to the problem was ludicrously simple.
Wyatt Drucker was reputed to be the richest rancher in southern Arizona Territory. All Edge had to do, therefore, was locate Drucker's ranch and wait patiently for its owner to return with his illegal fortune. Or maybe Drucker had already found his prize and was back at his spread counting the take. Whatever the timing, the method of getting the gold would be the same—painful for Drucker. Very painfuclass="underline" for in Edge's experience, the richer the man, the more resolute was he to keep his money.
As Edge enjoyed his bath and considered his ridiculously simple plan the sun was completely swallowed up by the western horizon and the final crimson rays of its light were extinguished by the stealthy hand of a moonless night. The sentries on the high walls tightened their grips on the new Winchesters and struggled to adjust their tired eyes to the darkness as they stared out across the ruins of the ravaged town which still gave off a nauseous odor of death and burning.
But the soldiers were looking in the wrong direction. As their eyes raked the empty street and deserted buildings and their brain struggled to quell vivid mind-pictures of Apache braves flitting among the deep blacks and grays which patterned the town, the raiders crept along the foot of the towering ridge and gathered in the angle where the sheer rock face met the three foot thick adobe wall of the fort's eastern defenses. There were twenty of them, on foot and with faces and naked upper bodies devoid of war paint which might show up against the black cloak of night. They had approached in pairs, carrying between them ten trunks of young trees, each some twelve feet long; and one member of each two man team had a length of rope coiled around his shoulder. Working quickly and silently, two of the trunks were lashed together, end to end. These were rested against the wall of the fort and then slid carefully upwards so that a third trunk could be upended and lashed into position. With the addition of each new trunk the lengthening prop grew heavier and more braves were required to inch it up the wall.
Although Murray expected a frontal attack and had concentrated the main guard to watch at the town side, the flanks of the fort had not been left completely unprotected and at regular intervals the braves had to interrupt their task as the two man patrol sauntered toward the section of wall under which they were positioned. The Apaches needed only eight of the ten trunks to reach to just below the top of the wall, the long, crudely formed ladder canting at a thirty degree angle and bowing at its center. With a speed and order that told of careful planning, the braves began to shin up the trunks in parties of three, finding easy hand and footholds on the trunks which had not been stripped of their bark. At the top of the trunks the advance trio snaked over the wall and crouched in the inky darkness, looking along the wooden staging toward where the two sentries were turning for the return of their guard patrol.
A low whistle warned the other raiders to hold their position but did not reach the two soldiers who were talking in soft tones, glancing only occasionally out into the sea of darkness which stretched out eastwards from the fort. More often, they looked down into the compound which was a comforting oasis of light supplied by spluttering kerosene lamps.