Harris and Tucker sat their saddles in dusty blue shirts; the Apache prisoner wore a cheap flannel shirt, tails flying, and a bandage startling white on his head where Rubio had clubbed him with a rifle. Around them, tall timber marched upward and away in all direction, giving Brady the feeling that they stood at the bottom of a dark, imprisoning funnel. He regarded the Apache brave, who made a point of ignoring him. Over the past thirty-six hours the Indian had maintained a stony distance, silent and withdrawn; now, too, his copper-colored face bore a look of strong aloofness. Harris said, "Tell him if he'll give us his word not to try an escape, we'll untie his hands."

Brady relayed the message to the prisoner, speaking in guttural Apache, using his hands to aid his talk. The Apache only glared back at him. Brady commenced to glower, after which the Indian nodded his head slowly. Brady rode across the intervening few yards, leaned far out of the saddle to untie the Indian's hands and sat back.

Tucker gigged his horse forward. "You think we can trust him?"

"Why not? He's got nothing to lose."

"He's already lost considerable face by getting captured. It might not look too good for him to guide us in."

Brady shrugged. Considering the Apache's enigmatic face, he said, "I guess we can chance it. He knows we'd shoot him down before we'd let him escape."

Tucker loosened his holster flap. "You think he understands English?"

"No telling," Brady said, and looked at Harris. "Want to get going?"

"Nothing's keeping us here," Harris answered. His eyes were narrowed, concealing whatever might have been on his mind. "Did you talk to Yeager? If Inyo doesn't accept our offer, I doubt Yeager's place will last long. Inyo's pretty hungry by now."

"I talked to him," Brady said, sending his glance across the length of the sunlit yard. Yeager stood by the big door, rifle in hand, slowly chewing on something; his long black beard moved up and down. "He's pretty set in his ways, I reckon."

"Then he trusts those bucks more than I do," Harris observed. "Let's go."

Harris's eyes were deep-set and brooding. Brady nodded, lifted an arm in signal to Yeager and loped out of the yard with HaiTis at one shoulder and the Apache at the other. Tucker came along behind them, leading their pack horse. Brady's full canteen banged softly against the saddle, in rhythm with the horse's long-legged gait. They quickly left the dusty yard and penetrated the cool dark corridors of the vast forest. Brady motioned the Apache out ahead; from here on, the choice of routes would be up to the Indian. Trees closed in on them so that Brady dropped behind Harris in single file, trailed by Tucker and the pack animal; and in that manner they crossed the morning's first three hours, steadily climbing along the sides of heavily wooded canyons into the deeper reaches of the Arrowheads.

They were close to timberline now, well above the eight-thousand-foot-level, and the timber was thinning out. Long, bald faces of juniper shrubs and glistening rocks spread before them in humping, jagged patterns, buckUng all around. The Indian kept up a steady pace.

Tucker, rawboned and long-faced, gigged his pony forward alongside Brady's and rode with the leadrope of the pack animal idly draped through the fingers of his right hand. "How far you figure it from here?"

"We wont get there today," Brady said. "Maybe in the morning."

"Big mountains," Tucker observed. He reached up to adjust his hat, and closed the collar of his shirt. "Maybe the air's cold up here and then again, maybe it's just that this is Inyo's country—and we're trespassin'."

"They won't jump us," Brady said. "Not till they find out what we're up to."

"You figure they've spotted us already?"

"I reckon," Brady said. He saw the darkness of Tucker's expression, the heavy roll of his lips. Tucker was looking northward, toward the bowels of the mountain range, toward the advancing breastwork of heavy gray clouds that had been marching steadily forward all morning. "Guess it'll rain before morning," Tucker said. All his tones seemed edged with gloom. "Something else to add to our exquisite comfort." His dry voice accentuated the Alabama drawl. He kept watching the oncoming cloud-front with hangdog eyes.

"Easy," Brady droned.

Tucker's glance flicked him and passed on. Tucker was plainly troubled, but then he always looked troubled—it was almost a characteristic of his facial structure.

Brady gave him a further brief study and said thoughtfully, "My hitch is up today."

"Congratulations." Tucker's reply was hollow. He added, "In a couple of weeks I'll be finishing up my fourth enlistment."

Brady's head turned to watch him, but Tucker's thoughts were effecively concealed behind the blandness of his cheeks. Brady said, "You plan to sign up again?"

"Why," Tucker said. "I hadn't thought on it. I expect I will." But in that moment, Brady saw a shadow of uncertainty pass across the sergeant's face.

They went along the top of a ridge from which they could look down and command a vast district of land. A vague silver ribbon some distance away was Peacock Creek, flowing down through successive notches to meet the Smoke out in the far valley. They cut away from the ridge and dropped into a shallow rocky bowl, going across and descending thereafter into a maze of canyons that defied any kind of mental untangling. The country grew steadily more arid, less vegetation and great cliffs and mounds of red and yellow rock, seamed and weathered smooth by the ages. Here they rode through a land of timeless temples, sixty miles deep in roadless wilderness—the air was clear and cool; it was a magnificent country. But a single furtive movement far off, picked up by a corner of Brady's shrewd and wary vision, warned him of the unceasing hostile nature of yonder cliffs. The beast of danger growled silently through these echoing halls of monumental rock.

Beside him. Tucker was inspecting his revolver, emptying the bullets into his hand and squinting down the bore, and feeding the shells back into the chamber. "Soldier or not," Tucker drawled, "I hope I don't get a chance to use this thing. Not this trip, anyway. I get the feeling we're likely to be a bit outnumbered, if it comes to shooting."

Brady grunted. Tucker reversed the gun in his hand, lifted the holster flap and dropped the Colt into leather. He said, "I guess about all any of us can do is survive as long as we can."

"You sound jaded," Brady said.

"Well, I guess I am. Maybe I've seen too many doors close in my face to think anything different."

Brady said, "I get the feeling you re a little too busy feeling sorry for yourself. Self-pity never helped anybody, Emmett."

"Probably not," Tucker conceded, and showed a sudden brash grin. Brady could not tell whether it was forced. Tucker said, "And faint heart never filled a flush. I reckon I'll go out in a blaze of glory, vyhen it comes. Don't worry none about me, Will— I'm the toughest damned soldier you ever met."

Brady chuckled but there were troubled overtones both in Tucker's bravado and in Brady's own mind. Still, he allowed himself to go ahead and say what he had been working up to all the while: "As soon as we get this mess with Inyo cleared up, I'm taking off for the Santa Catahnas. There's a nice little valley up there I know of-plenty of grass and water, and not too hot in summer—and nobody's yet been able to count all the wild horses up in that country. I aim to start myself a little horse ranch."