Apache canyon (3 page)

"For the duration of the campaign," the major said, with no change in tone. "It may take a week; it may take years." He leaned forward, his arms across the desk and the flats of his palms hard against the wood. "During the war I was a junior officer in your father's command."

"I'm not my father. Major," Brady said gently. "Don't play on my sympathies."

"I don't give a damn about your sympathies." He sat frowning up at Brady.

Brady was quick, strong, shrewd. The Major needed that kind of man to act as his chief of scouts. Brady knew that as well as he himself did. That meant Brady was either angling for something, or was really serious about giving up his contract and going oflF to start his wilderness horse ranch.

The major snorted. "Damn it, what will it take to keep you?''

Brady shrugged. He walked to the open window and turned around.

"I've got a bad case of conscience right now, Ma-]or.

"What do you mean?"

"You and I both know why Inyo jumped the reservation and why most of his band followed him. It wasn't because Inyo's a criminal and it wasn't because they all got iDlood-thirsty. It was because they got hungry. They've had a dozen treaties busted right under their noses. Now the Government puts them on a God-forsaken reservation that won't even support sand lizards and cactus wrens. What do they expect the Apaches to live on? Hell-I don't blame Inyo for heading for the hills, and neither do you. All he wants is a place to live where there's enough game and water to support human life."

The major smiled grimly. "I thought so," he said. "The Interior Department knows the situation. I've joined forces a good many times with the Indian agent here to protest the situation. You know that as well as I do."

"That doesn't change the facts," Brady insisted. "I'm not blaming you. Major. I just don't feel like hounding Inyo any more. I figure he's taken enough."

The major nodded. "Brady, I'm going to play my

ace, and I hope it works well enough to change your mind." He tapped the telegram on his desk with his index finger. "Sherman's headquarters has just advised me that the Interior Department is now willing to transfer this band of Coyoteros to the San Carlos Reservation in the White Mountains. But they won't approve the removal until and unless Inyo brings his renegades down out of the hills and back to the reservation. He's done too much damage and killed too many people. The Government wants him where it can watch him before it does him any favors."

All the while he spoke, he was watching Brady s expression-a growing, unconvinced frown. "It smells," Brady said. "Of what?"

"Cow dung," the scout answered bluntly. "It sounds to me like just another empty Washington pohticos' promise to trick Inyo into returninjg to the reservation."

"I don't think so," the major said. "For one thing, this is over General Sherman's signature. Sherman does not make empty promises. For another thing, feelings are getting pretty high in the East about this whole Indian problem. Nobody's Ukely to put up with any more Washington double-dealing on this question. They're all remembering what happened to Custer a few years ago. I think they'd rather make the Indians happy than go through that again."

Brady was nodding but the major noticed that the frown remained. "I'll think about it," the scout said. He stood up and put on his hat. "I'll think about it," he said again, nodded to the major, and went out of the room.

Rubio swung away from the corner and followed on Brady's heels.

As the major put the telegram in a drawer, he heard the heavy tramp of Sergeant-Major McCracken's returning footsteps. The sergeant-major's bulk filled the doorway and his deep-throated voice filled the room:

"Captain Harris is bringing his troop in from scout detail," he announced.

"All right," the major said. "Thanks, McCracken." He got up and walked out toward the parade ground.

Captain Justin Harris left his half-troop of dry and dusty cavalrymen under the expert command of Sergeant Mitchell Andi-ews, and rode his own leg-weary horse across the parade ground to the commanding officer's office. The major was standing on the porch, a bull-shouldered, level-eyed officer, twisting the points of his mustache. Down the row of buildings Harris saw Will Brady and Pete Rubio leading their horses into the stables.

Dust was a fine, gritty coating on everything- including Hanis's lips and cheeks and eyelids.

Heat still held its heavy hand against the earth; shadows were long and red-tinged. As he dismounted, Harris had a glimpse of McCracken s heavy shape bent over the desk inside the front office.

He saluted the major tiredly and left his horse's reins in the hand of the trooper who came up for them, and stepped up onto the porch. The adobe waU was pink in the low sun's hght. Harris's lean frame moved with the stiffness of a long journey. His voice was an unhurried Virginia drawl: "We went up the Smoke to Tilghley's Ford and made a swing around through Spanish Flat. No sign of Apaches up that way. We came back along the foothills of the Arrowheads, and two mornings ago we came onto a bunch of hoofprints. Unshod horses. We followed the trail and at noon we found Vic Manter's wagon. Remember him, Major?"

The major nodded. "Itinerant trader."

"Called himself the Apaches' friend." Harris said. "The wagon was burned to charcoal. They'd staked Manter out over an anthill. There wasn't much of him left—we buried it. Then we followed the tracks up to where they split up in the foothills and the trail petered out."

'Inyo's bunch?"

"Yes."

"Come inside, Justin."

Harris followed him inside and waved back Mc-Cracken's informal salute. He left the door open to the major's office and stood relaxed, waiting while the major opened a drawer, pulled out a telegram and handed it to him.

HaiTis read the message and handed it back. "I see," he said. "This business with Manter won't help Inyo's chances any."

"No," the major said, "it won t. A few more raids like that, and the Interior Department vidll take back its offer." .

Harris looked through the window toward the Arrowheads, now turning indigo, violet and salmon-red under the rays from the setting sun. "I guess it's likely to be a long, bloody summer, Major."

"Maybe," the major repHed. "And then again, maybe not. I want you to stand ready to go up there with Brady for a powwow with Inyo. We still may be able to talk him into coming back peacefully."

Harris nodded. He turned back toward the door and said, "I want to get a few pounds of dust washed off."

"Just a minute. Captain."

It was the major's formal use of the word "Captain' that halted Harris. He turned to face the major, half-unconsciously bringing his lean body to attention.

"There's something I have to ask you," the major said. His hand came up to twist the end of his mustache. "This is a small post, Justin. Talk runs aiound pretty fast here. "Talk?"

"Talk-about you and Mrs. Sutherland. Is there anything to it? I'd better know, Justin."

Harris could see that the major was both troubled and embarrassed by asking the question. "Did Captain Sutherland make a complaint. Major?"

"No. He did not. This is purely gossip, third-hand at best. But it has come to my attention and I think I ought to know about it." The major seemed to grow abruptly conscious of the severity with which he was twisting the point of his mustache; he dropped his hand self-consciously to the desk top and let it He there. "What's the truth of the matter, Justin?"

"I've had a few words with her from time to time," Harris said. "Nothing more than that, Major." "There's nothing between you, then?" "Not on my part, at least." Harris realized he was giving answers that were ambiguous. He tightened his fists at his sides and felt his jaw creep forward.

Major Cole looked down and picked at a fingernail. "It would be improper of me to pry further, I think. But I ought to caution you about a couple of things, Justin. This kind of talk must spring from some source. And as I said, it makes the rounds in a considerable hurry. If it continues, it might make a good deal of trouble for you-both from George Sutherland, and from Sadie Rand, if she hears of it. She is your girl, isn't she?"

"I like to think so," Harris answered, bringing up into the front of his mind a clear image of the blonde girl's clear-eyed features. "Is that all. Major?"

The major giamted. "Damn it, I don't like this any more than you do. Don't stiffen up on me—I've seen enough of that today. Just pay heed to an old soldier's advice, Justin—and spike these rumors before they go any fiuther."

Harris shrugged his wide, loose shoulders. "I'm not sure how I'd go about doing that, su," he said. He saluted and went out.

Passing McCracken's desk, he stopped and turned, and put his suspicious glance on the sergeant-major's broad, red face. McCracken met his eyes with bland innocence. "Something I can do for you. Captain?"

"I guess not," Harris said, and added, "I never figured you for a gossip, McCracken."

"Why, what does that mean, sir?"

"Forget it," Harris said. He put on his hat and went out into the twilight.

An hour .later, after a bath and a shave and a change of clothies, he emerged from the officers' mess and stood on the edge of the parade ground, glancing up at the stars. He stretched, Hghted a cigar, and went across the compound through the night, his red cigar tip glowing and bobbing with his progress. On his way out of the garrison area, he saluted the guard and then tramped a well-packed trail toward the civilian camp, passing the end of the row of laundress shacks. The sound of a girl's calculated laughter came to him dimly from the saloon when he went by it; he continued to the sutler's store and went up onto the porch, and stood in the darkness a moment before he put his thumb on the doorlatch and went in.

The big, disorderly room of the store was warmly illuminated by oil lamps suspended on the walls. Chet Rand, the sutler, stood behind the beer counter talking to the only customer, Will Brady. Brady had changed out of his trail costume into town garb-broadcloth trousers and a colorful flannel shirt. The scout's unruly black hair needed cutting; it always seemed to need cutting. Brady grinned when he saw Harris and waved a half-full beer mug in greeting; Harris came forward, still wearing the troubled expression that had burdened him since leaving Major Cole's office, and said in a subdued tone, " 'Evening, Will. Chet."

"Sadie's out back in her room," Chet Rand said. He was a florid-cheeked man of some fifty years, dressed in a soiled and ill-fitting dark suit. "I'll tell her you're here, Justin."

Will Brady put up his hand in a gesture. "A little later, Chet. I want to palaver with the captain first."

"Why," Rand said, looking puzzled, "why, all right, Will." He drew a mug of beer and put it on the counter before Harris, and went back through the rows of drygoods to a rear door, through which he went out.

When the door had closed, Harris regarded the scout and said, "What's on your mind, Will?"

Brady indicated the full mug wth his hand. "Drink up. You just put that uniform on fresh?

"Yes."

"It's already dusty," Brady said. "Hell of a country." He set his mug down and hoisted himself up to a sitting position on the counter, swinging his legs loosely, lightly banging the counter-front with the backs of his bootheels. Presently he said, "George Sutherland was in here a while ago. Pretty drunk. Asked if you were here, and then left. Somebody's put a bee in his bonnet, Justin." Harris uttered a small groan. "Not you, too."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"The major gave me a little speech tonight.''

"So it's already got to him, has it?"

"Hell," Harris said, with a soft viciousness. "I'd like to go out and tell the world to mind its own business."

Brady chuckled. "That won't happen for a while yet, I suspect. I'll shut up if you want, but I just thought I'd warn you—Captain Sutherland looks like he's out for blood." Brady's emphasis on the word "Captain" was heavy and a trifle sarcastic; Harris knew, from many months of traiUng with Brady, just what Brady's opinion was of the B Company commander.

"Thanks for the warning," Harris said.

"We had a little excitement while you were gone," Brady said in an idle tone. "Tonio busted out. Pete and I went up after him and caught him at Yeager's ranch. He's back in the guardhouse now, plenty snug, I guess."

"Sounds like a good job done."

"Wasn't hard. Tonio's too young to have learned all the tricks yet. If he'd been smart enough, or a little older, we'd have lost him. A smart one wouldn't have headed for Yeager's—he'd have stayed in the rocks. Nobody could find a man in that rockpile soutli of Yeager's."

Harris nodded. "Did the major show you that telegram from General Sherman?" "He did."

"He made some remarks to me about the two of us going up to Inyo's camp to try and talk him into coming back to the reservation peacefully."

If Brady was surprised, he didn't show it. All he said was, "When?"

"The major's still waiting for orders." "My contract's up next week," Brady said. Harris's hand with the beer mug paused halfway to his mouth. He lifted it slowly the rest of the way and drank, looking closely at Brady over the rim of the mug. "You're not going to quit us now, are you?" "I'm thinking on it," Brady said. "Listen, Justin, don't get your hopes too high. Talking to Inyo wouldn't do much good at this point." i

"Why not?"

"Inyo might be willing to come down, but I doubt we'd get much co-operation out of that pack of young bucks with him. And if we took this kind of a proposal to him, he'd have to hold a council of warriors. He may be a war chief, but he doesn't have the authority to tell any of them what to do when it comes to giving up the fight."

"Why shouldn't the rest of them accept the offer? It's a good one."

"Sure," Brady said softly. He shifted his seat on the counter. "But those young bucks have tasted blood, now. They know the smell of a fresh kill. They'll never get the kind of excitement on the San Carlos reservation that they're getting right now, raiding all over the Territory and downi into Mexico."