"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."