The horse went out from under Sutherland and he felt himself flung from the saddle into the icy water. He ducked under, pistol still locked in his grip, and wheeled back to the bank, plunging ahead into the brush, with Apache gunfire whipping overhead from front and back in a wicked, relentless crossfire.

Savagely he turned about, crouching on one knee, squinting through the tangled brush to seek out targets. With calm precision he squeezed off the three remaining shells in his pistol, and knelt to reload. The sudden realization came over him like a delayed reaction in that it was his duty to look after his men. He wheeled back into the brush of this narrow no-man s land and found Rubio, belly to the ground, rifle at his cheek, picking his targets with calm care. "Rubio, find Brophy and tell him to report to me on the double."

Rubio looked up bleakly. "Tell him yourself."

"Damn it, Rubio—"

"I don't take orders from murderers," Rubio said mildly, and dropped his eyes to the sights. Cursing, Sutherland crashed on, heedless of the metal that sizzled through the air taking little bites out of bnish and wind and rain. A drop of water whipped into his eye and he blinked desperately; a protruding branch cut a deep red scratch in the back of his hand; his running feet got tangled in the undergrowth and he fell flat, the pistol flying from his grasp. He lost precious moments retrieving the gun; and ran on through the shoulder-high brush.

When he found the sergeant, Brophy already had the troopers behind rocks and mesquite. Off in a shallow gully he glimpsed the horses with their horse holders.

An arrow came in from behind and fell quivering into the trunk of a mesquite beside him; he swimming and saw a dozen howling Apaches coming downhill at the troop's rear. When he lifted his pistol to fire on them he heard Brophy's practiced even tones: "Barnett, Holly—cover the flanks. Corporal Frank, take a man up those rocks and hold the rear." The gun was empty in Sutherland's fist; he let his arm drop. Brophy's voice cut forward sharply: "Captain —get down. You re a target, standin up that way."

Sutherland wheeled and dropped to a crouch beside Brophy, thumbing shells with aggravating slowness into the gate of his revolver. On the slope behind, the running Indians had dropped to earth, immediately fading from sight. With his gun reloaded and his breath subsiding in his chest, Sutherland said, "Head count, Brophy."

"Near as I can tell, sir," Brophy said, and paused to fire a shot forward through the brush "we've got six dead and two wounded. There's seven of us left in a piece—and maybe Rubio, if he's around here."

"He's in front of the line," Sutherland said. The Apaches in the brush followed with a ragged volley, and then a sudden quiet descended on the area. Drizzling rain continued to dampen everything. Brush rattled to his left and he wheeled, lifting his pistol. Pete Rubio snaked through the brush on his belly and rolled over, getting to his haunches, peering forward.

Sutherland said, "Are they coming toward us, Rubio?"

"Not yet."

"Then what's keeping them?" Rubio looked around and spat.

"You tell me, Captain. You're the Indian-fighting expert."

A blaze of red filmed Sutherland's eyes. In that quick moment he had an almost uncontrollable urge to shoot Rubio down; the pistol came up and his thumb eared the big hammer back to full cock, and with the muzzle trained point-blank on Rubio he said, "Answer my question."

Rubio shrugged contemptuously. "You ain't going to shoot me—you got few enough guns as it is. But I'll tell you what you want to know. They've fallen back to regroup and most likely wait for reinforcements. They figure they've got plenty of time—we ain't going anywhere, not now."

Sutherland cursed and turned around. His face was livid. One buck, more ambitious than the rest, splashed into the creek forty yards downstream and came plunging halfway across the water before Sutherland's slug took him in the ribs, spun him completely around and dropped him into the mud. Scattered shots sounded at irregular intervals. Sutherland punched the empty shell-case out of his gun and plugged a fresh cartridge into its place.

"Brophy."

"Sir?"

"We'll have to consoHdate. Draw the men back slowly to the rocks on either side of that gully where the the horses are. I believe we can hold them from there."

"Yes, sir," Brophy said. His voice was as blank as the gray sky. He turned away through the bushes. Sutherland grunted and began to walk crouched toward the gully. "Come on, Rubio," he said disgustedly.

He didn't bother to see if Rubio was with him; he threaded a path through the brush and rocks and after a half-hour he found himself on the rim of the gully overlooking the horses. Some of his men were already here. He saw one man with his arm hanging useless, another limping badly, a third crooked strangely on one side; men straggled in, all of them trying to watch all four compass points at once; and when Brophy came, last to arrive, Sutherland said, "You counted wrong, Brophy. There are nine of us, counting the horse holders."

"Yes sir," Brophy said.

"Post your men around the perimeter. Sergeant. Get ready for another attack—and pay special attention to the horses. We need them."

Brophy turned away. Sutherland put his back to a high rock and allowed himself to slump slightly. A bleak hght came up and stained his eyes. Nearby, Rubio was squatting motionless in the shadow of a great boulder.

Rubio pulled a straw from the ground and stuck it into his mouth, letting it hang from his lip corner. He said, "Might be three or four of us could make it. We could stampede some of the horses, come dark, and go out the other way, while the Apaches go chasing after the horses. I reckon," he added drily, "we've got enough spare horses now to turn the trick."

"Perhaps," Sutherland said coldly. "I dislike the notion of retreating."

"You figure it's better to get your scalp lifted, hey? I made a mistake, then-I always figured you for a few brains, at least."

Sutherland cursed under his breath and called out: "Brophy."

Brophy did not answer. He lay flat on the ground, fifteen yards away, with a crimson shaft rising from his throat and blood pulsing thickly out to stain the rocks. Sutherland swore fervently and lifted his pistol; but no targets presented themselves to his gun. Then he saw Rubio dart past him, scoot across the intervening open ground, and coolly strip the sergeant's pistol and shells from the body, after which Rubio moved on into the rocks, disappearing, taking up a position.

Alone on this face of the hill, Sutherland allowed his body to go more slack, while he made his mind work. Presently he pushed away from the rock, crawled uphill through the brush, and by a roundabout concealed course finally came up beside Rubio. "All right," he said. "We'll pull back."

Rubio grunted. "A fine time to show some sense, ain t it?"

"Be quiet. I want you to pass the word along—unsaddle all the horses but those we'll need to ride out."

"What about the wounded?"

"We'll have to take them with us."

The drizzle spattered the backs of their hands. "That's mighty kind of you," Rubio said huskily, and moved off.

The apaches had walked into Brady's camp at dawn and roused him and his companions. All of them carried arms, but none of them had brandished their weapons or even pointed them. Now, three hours later, Brady sat beside Harris while their horses moved along the floor of a long canyon under a drizzling gray sky; Tucker brought up the rear with his pack horse; and all around them rode the silent Indians. Once in a while one of the Apaches would make a joke, and the others would laugh; but by and large, it was a quiet journey. The Indians had not taken the guns from the soldiers. Harris's wry glance came around and struck Brady. "I didn't know I was buying into this kind of thing when I accepted my commission. Maybe I'd have thought twice."