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a
mite, which might drift enough sand to cover my tracks, but there was small
chance it would be in time. Several times I slowed down, checking animal
tracks,
and watching for any sign that might indicate water.
The trail behind was empty, and the trail ahead looked clear. I rode in my
own
small world of sunlight, the movement of horses, and the smell of dust and
sweat. Ahead of me, on the right, a sawtooth range showed itself above the
flatter country around us.
I slowed my horse to a walk, for there were dark streaks of sweat along his
flanks. An arroyo opened ahead of me, and I rode into it and found a way up
the
opposite bank. A towering butte was ahead for destination.
The bullet smashed against the pommel of my saddle, then ricocheted away with
a
nasty whine, and the heavy report of the rifle followed. Slapping spurs to my
horse, I started to run him as three Apaches broke from cover to my right.
They
had waited in ambush, but my dip into the arroyo had fooled them and now they
came running.
Turning in the saddle, I taken aim as best I might and fired ... once, twice
...
three times. I saw a horse stagger and go down, spilling head over heels in
the
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sand.
Ahead of me three more Apaches had come from right out of the desert, it
seemed.
I turned my mount a little away from them and raced on, holding my fire.
Behind
me Spanish rode like a sack of grain in the saddle, his body lurching with
every
jump, yet somehow he remained upright.
They came at me, and suddenly I wheeled the black and charged into them,
firing
my Winchester with one hand as if it was a pistol.
The sudden switch surprised them and one of them turned so sharply his horse
spilled into the sand. Another was right ahead of my rifle barrel and not
thirty
feet away when I shot into his chest, dusting him on both sides. He went
down,
and then we were through and riding for that butte.
Behind me there was a shot and something brushed at my shoulder, but we were
off
and away. Sliding my Winchester into its scabbard, I drew a six-gun and
fired,
slowly and deliberately, trying for a score. The first shot missed, so did
the
second. Then an Apache elected to swing his horse around a small cedar just
as I
thumbed back the hammer. He was broadside to me and I let go, heard the slam
of
the shot, and saw the Apache lurch in the saddle, then swing off to one side,
barely clinging to his horse.
Suddenly, from ahead there was the hard bark of a rifle, and glancing back, I
saw another Indian falling. I raced forward, scarcely daring to believe it
could
be help, but the Apaches, wily fighters always, were swinging away. And
Spanish
was still riding behind me.
The desert fell away in a long slope ahead of us, and on the rim stood John
J.
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Battles, dusty, bloody, his hat gone, his shirt torn. He got up from the
ground
as we approached and swung into the saddle ... and he had the pack horse.
"She found me," he said. "Came trailing along the desert, part of her pack
gone,
the rest hanging under her belly."
"Did you see anything of the youngsters?" I asked.
"No, not a sign." He looked back at Spanish. "He hurt bad?"
"I haven't had time to look. I think so."
We pushed on, praying for the night to hurry, and finally it came. Our horses
slowed to a walk, and Battles and me, we swung down to save them as much as
we
might.
"How far d'you think to the border?" Battles asked. "Maybe sixty miles," I
said. "Might be less." He stopped to work his toes around in his boots. I
knew
the signs, for I was doing the same thing. We were, both almighty tired. I
figured I was stronger than him, and I'd been running on nerve. I seemed to
have
been hot, tired, and sore as long as I could remember. My muscles ached, my
eyes
hurt from the glare, and felt all the time as if they had sand in them. I was
wanting to stop with every step, and I knew the horses didn't feel any
better.
But we kept on, because neither of us was smart enough to quit. Finally
Battles
stumbled and went to his knees, and he was slow getting up.
"You better get on your horse and ride for it," he said. "Ride that horse to
death if need be, but get to safety. We just ain't a-going to make it like
this."
I didn't answer, but kept on going. Every time I put one foot ahead of the
other
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