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  Three riders were coming forward from the direction of the Arrowheads, three horsemen in a close-packed bunch. At this distance the major couldn't make them out, but if it was Will Brady, the presence of the third rider meant they had recaptured Tonio.

  One bright spot in a dreary day, the major thought bleakly. He sat down in the chair behind his desk and found before him a document awaiting his approval, an officer's request for transfer, neatly written out in the handwi-iting of George Sutherland, Captain, B Company.

  Major Cole allowed himself a sigh, after which he muttered, "Another ritual to be performed," and wrote at the bottom of the transfer appHcation: Request denied, and his signature. He carried the paper out to the front office and put it on McCracken's desk and said, "Give this to Captain Sutherland when he comes in."

  "Yes, sir," McCracken said.

  "I think I just saw Brady and Rubio bringing in the prisoner. Tell Brady to drop the Indian off at the guardhouse and report to me."

  McCracken nodded; his loose chin wobbled. Sweat was a glisten on his lobster-red flesh. "Hot and close," McCracken observed, to no one in particular.

  The major agreed, and was turning away from the sergeant-major's desk when a man's shadow filled the doorway and Captain George Sutherland, his brass aglitter, stood at attention with his garrison cap smartly under his aim. "Major—"

  "Come on back. Captain," the major said tiredly, and moved with lethargic steps back into his office. By the time he seated himself, Sutherland had pulled the door shut behind him. Shutting that thin, bhster-

  dry door would hardly keep any sounds from the outer office. The major smiled. Besides, McCracken knew as much as any man what went on within the confines of Fort Dragoon.

  Sutherland was standing stiffly at attention. "I won't beat around the bush," the major said. "IVe turned you down again, Captain." Of all his officers, Sutherland was the only one whose first name Major Cole never felt free to use.

  Sutherland's face was round and smooth, almost giving an impression of baby-softness but in contradiction to this, he always carried himself with stiff back and stern demeanor. Sutherland was not a martinet, Major Cole privately observed; but it might not take too much to make him one.

  "As you know," the major continued, "there are no officers on the post capable of replacing you at the moment, Captain. Furthermore, even if I approve your transfer, the War Department is certain to turn you down. The army is overloaded with officers, as you well know."

  "Yes, sir," Sutherland said. His eyes remained straight ahead, fixed on the wall above the major's head.

  "For Pete's sake, relax a little, can't you? At ease. Captain."

  "Thank you, sir," Sutherland said with exact courtesy. He moved his left foot aside and clasped his hands behind him. The rigidity of his body did not change.

  Major Cole allowed himself a small grimace; he felt the sticky wetness of his shirt against the chair; he stood and went to the window and looked out while he spoke. "I realize this is not a glory post, Captain. But at least it offers the possibihty of action--which is more than a headquarters desk job would give you. I have asked before, and I'll ask again now--I know you're not a coward, Captain, and I'd like to know your reason for requesting transfer."

  "My reasons are personal. Major."

  "Personal in what way?"

  "I'm afraid I'd prefer to keep that to myself, sir. The major, without looking around, shook his head gently. "Lx)Osen up a little, can't you?" "Is there anything else. Major?" The major put his back to the window, facing Sutherland. "Most of our wives don't like it here. Captain. Yours isn't the only one to find this place well-nigh unbearable."

  Sutherland's sensuous lips curled a trifle; he said, "I don't know of any particular desire to leave on my wife's part, Major. She's never suggested it to me." Major Cole considered the man. He could not make Sutherland out; he could not understand the man or his motives. Finally he said, "All right, Captain. I'll respect your wishes in the matter; I won't press it further. When I feel we can spare you, I'll approve your transfer request. Until then, as you know, we have an Indian problem, and this post is awaiting orders from General Shennan. When those orders come, I expect you'll have your hands full of Coyotero Apaches for a while--and I'll need every man I can get, particularly my hue officers."

  "Of course. Major," Sutherland said. If there was a trace of dryness in his tone. Major Cole chose to ignore it. "Thank you, sir." The captain saluted, executed a smart about-face, and left the room.

  After a moment's troubled thought, the major moved into the front office and confronted the desk of Sergeant-Major McCracken.

  The sergeant-major looked up with bland anticipation. "Yes, sir?"

  "McCracken, what the devil is wrong with Captain Sutherland?"

  "Man to man, sir?"

  "Of course, damn it."

  McCracken let his chair come down on four legs, and planted his elbows solidly on the scarred wood desk top. At last he looked up, all red round cheeks and loose chins and thinning sandy hair, and said tentatively, "I wouldn't want to be spreadin' tales, Major."

  "I understand," the major said. "Go on."

  Having heard his remark, McCracken continued: "The talk is he's jealous, sir. They're sayin' his wife's been seen with one of the officers. Maybe the captain wants to get her away from him, Major."

  "Which other officer?"

  "Why," McCracken said innocently, "I couldn't say, Major. I couldn't say."

  Major Cole grunted and walked forward to the open front door. He looked at the dusty parade ground. There was only one officer in his command who could get this kind of mouth-shut loyalty from McCracken; that officer was Captain Justin Harris, of C Company. And when he thought about it for a moment, the Major could understand how Sutherland's pretty dark-eyed wife might be attracted to Captain Harris. Harris was everything that Sutherland wanted to be but was not. Harris was a good officer. He was easygoing, carrying himself lightly but with self-assurance, coiffident of his abilities as an officer and therefore never overbearing, and handsome with his long face and his gently sardonic eyes and his rambling easy temper-Hanis was, the major decided, just the kind of man who would appeal to Eleanor Sutherland. Or any other perceptive young woman.

  Funny, the major mused. I had it in mind that Harris was pretty well interested in Sadie Rand. For the good of harmony on the post, it might be well to have a talk with Justin Harris.

  So deciding, the major turned back and said to McCracken, "Get word to Captain Harris when he comes in from scout detail that I want a word with him."

  McCracken frowned. "I'm beginning to feel I spoke out of turn, Major. Maybe you ought to forget I said anything."

  "Why," the major said, "did you say anythmg, McCracken?"

  "No, sir," McCracken said.

  "I didn t think you had," the major said, suppressing the beginnings of a smile.

  McCracken got up and came around his desk. The chevrons on his sleeve were dusty and faded. "I've served with some pretty good officers in my time, Major," he said, and clapped his hat on his head and waddled corpulently out the door, out of sight, leaving Major Cole alone in the room trying to puzzle out just what the sergeant-major had meant by his parting remai'k. Presently he decided to take it as a compliment.

  A trooper came hurrying down the walk from the adjutant's office and swung inside, saluting the major and holding out a folded paper in his left hand. "The wires is up again, sir, and this telegram just come tlirough."

  "Thanks, trooper." Major Cole took the message back into his ojffice, read it, read it again, and was still thinking about it when he heard the tramp of hoofs out front of the building. He looked up expectantly.

  Brady and Rubio. It was an old ritual. Pete Rubio moved to the room's corner and stood there with his arms folded. He was chewing tobacco, saying nothing.

  Brady came forward and stood at slouched ease, a tall rugged dark man in a buckskin shirt and butternut trousers and a battered hat. "He's back
," Brady said, and the major knew this would be the sum of Brady's voluntary report.

  "Any trouble?"

  "No," Brady said. "He's not a bad kid. And you can't blame him for trying to get to his father."

  "I don't intend to get rough with him, if that's what you mean," the major said. "But he's our one ace in the hole, and I want to keep him here. We can use him."

  "Use him. Major?"

  The major nodded. Then he said, "Your contrast expires next week. Have you thought about it?"

  "I've thought about it," Brady said. "I'm getting a little bit weary, Major. Tired of chasing a few renegade Coyoteros around the countryside for a Hving. Last year I came across a nice little valley up in the Santa Catalinas, all locked away from the rest of the world. I'm thinking of nmning a littlehorse ranch up diere."

  It was a long speech for Brady and the major recognized it. Presently he said, "I've just received a wire from Sherman's headquarters ordering me to get the garrison ready for action."

  "That's no news," Brady said. "You've been ready to set off for a month now."

  "I think this means a campaign," the major continued, ignoring Brady's remark. "I think it means we'll be mounting the regiment against Inyo. We'll need your services, Brady, to lead us to Inyo's ran-cheria in the Arrowheads."

  Brady jerked a thumb over his shoulder toward the corner where Pete Rubio stood in squat, imperturbable quiet. "Pete knows that country. So do most of the Agency Apaches and Indian police around here."

  The major shook his head. "It won t do. No offense, Rubio."

  " 'S all right, Captain," Rubio drawled. Rubio called every officer captain.

  "Then get Al Sieber," Brady said. "Sieber's the best in the Territory."

  "Sieber is also working for another command, and they won't spare him. I need you, Brady. I want you to extend your contract." "For how long?"

  "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?"