to shoot.
Lonnie Foreman crawled up in the rocks and seating himself, took a healthy pull at his canteen, then passed it to Cates. The water tasted flat and dull, lukewarm from the canteen.
"It's awful down there." Foreman gestured toward the deeper arroyo where the horses were held. "Like an oven."
"They can cover the horses from up higher. Tell Lonnie to come on up."
Foreman slid off the rocks and when he stood up on the main level he walked slowly away, his boots grating on the rock. He walked past the narrow shelf of shade under which the three women sat. Nobody cared about the fire, nobody wanted coffee. Despite the shortage of food, nobody was even hungry.
Cates watched the men retreat to the higher level. They could watch the horses as well from there, and the defensive position was better. He was afraid of that corral now ... he could not say why, but it seemed the most vulnerable, and the Apaches would want what horses they could get, either to ride or eat. Pulling the defenders back meant his line of defense was tighter, more compact, better sheltered.
Nothing stirred out there. Now that the men had been pulled back he could hear their conversation. Cates sat quietly among the rocks, ready for anything. Evidently the Apaches had observed the construction of the corral when it was first built, for no attempt had been made to stampede the horses, nor for some time had any effort been made to kill them, so evidently they believed they would have them all before many days had passed.
Nothing moved. From down by the waterhole someone was swearing in a heavy, monotonous voice. A fly buzzed near and lighted on Cates's face. He brushed it with an irritable hand and a bullet spat fragments of granite in his face as the sound went echoing down the hills.
He hunched lower, and, peering between the rocks, tried to find a target. He glanced down to see Zimmerman squatting near Big Maria, whispering. The big woman's face was lowered and Cates could not discern what effect the words were having, if any. They had drawn apart from the others. It was very hot, and very still.
Sheehan found a place in the thin shade and stretched out, trying to rest before the night watch. Kimbrough and Webb sat side by side in the rocks, talking as they kept a lookout.
Logan Cates tried to think of an escape. There had to be a way to get out of here, there was always a way. No matter how he squinted his eyes over the desert and tried to think of some way out, none came to him. By this time, however, the Army knew its patrol was lost or in trouble, and they would know the sheriff's posse was in the same situation. The fact that two well-armed parties had vanished in the same area at the same time was sufficient warning of what must be happening out there. Also, there could have been little or no desert travel in the meantime which would be evidence enough of an Indian outbreak. By this time there would be speculation and undoubtedly a search party was being organized.
In Tucson, Jim Fair would have given up the search or would by this time have started west, and being the man he was, Cates was quite sure that if Fair realized his daughter had run into trouble, he would be heading west without delay. Nor would they take too long in finding them at Papago Wells. There was, therefore, a double reason for alertness. They must be prepared to warn any search parties of a trap.
Cates began considering a smoke signal ... yet there was little fuel, and what there was must be conserved until there was absolute necessity.
It was beyond reason that Churupati and his renegades could exist out in those blistering rocks, but they were doing it, and the fact that the slightest incautious movement by the defenders brought a well-aimed shot was evidence enough.
Zimmerman got up suddenly. "To hell with this!" he said suddenly. "I'm gettin' out of here!"
Nobody replied. Lonnie Foreman got up and walked over to the rocks to climb up and relieve Cates.
Lonnie Foreman crawled up in the rocks and seating himself, took a healthy pull at his canteen, then passed it to Cates. The water tasted flat and dull, lukewarm from the canteen.
"It's awful down there." Foreman gestured toward the deeper arroyo where the horses were held. "Like an oven."
"They can cover the horses from up higher. Tell Lonnie to come on up."
Foreman slid off the rocks and when he stood up on the main level he walked slowly away, his boots grating on the rock. He walked past the narrow shelf of shade under which the three women sat. Nobody cared about the fire, nobody wanted coffee. Despite the shortage of food, nobody was even hungry.
Cates watched the men retreat to the higher level. They could watch the horses as well from there, and the defensive position was better. He was afraid of that corral now ... he could not say why, but it seemed the most vulnerable, and the Apaches would want what horses they could get, either to ride or eat. Pulling the defenders back meant his line of defense was tighter, more compact, better sheltered.
Nothing stirred out there. Now that the men had been pulled back he could hear their conversation. Cates sat quietly among the rocks, ready for anything. Evidently the Apaches had observed the construction of the corral when it was first built, for no attempt had been made to stampede the horses, nor for some time had any effort been made to kill them, so evidently they believed they would have them all before many days had passed.
Nothing moved. From down by the waterhole someone was swearing in a heavy, monotonous voice. A fly buzzed near and lighted on Cates's face. He brushed it with an irritable hand and a bullet spat fragments of granite in his face as the sound went echoing down the hills.
He hunched lower, and, peering between the rocks, tried to find a target. He glanced down to see Zimmerman squatting near Big Maria, whispering. The big woman's face was lowered and Cates could not discern what effect the words were having, if any. They had drawn apart from the others. It was very hot, and very still.
Sheehan found a place in the thin shade and stretched out, trying to rest before the night watch. Kimbrough and Webb sat side by side in the rocks, talking as they kept a lookout.
Logan Cates tried to think of an escape. There had to be a way to get out of here, there was always a way. No matter how he squinted his eyes over the desert and tried to think of some way out, none came to him. By this time, however, the Army knew its patrol was lost or in trouble, and they would know the sheriff's posse was in the same situation. The fact that two well-armed parties had vanished in the same area at the same time was sufficient warning of what must be happening out there. Also, there could have been little or no desert travel in the meantime which would be evidence enough of an Indian outbreak. By this time there would be speculation and undoubtedly a search party was being organized.
In Tucson, Jim Fair would have given up the search or would by this time have started west, and being the man he was, Cates was quite sure that if Fair realized his daughter had run into trouble, he would be heading west without delay. Nor would they take too long in finding them at Papago Wells. There was, therefore, a double reason for alertness. They must be prepared to warn any search parties of a trap.
Cates began considering a smoke signal ... yet there was little fuel, and what there was must be conserved until there was absolute necessity.
It was beyond reason that Churupati and his renegades could exist out in those blistering rocks, but they were doing it, and the fact that the slightest incautious movement by the defenders brought a well-aimed shot was evidence enough.
Zimmerman got up suddenly. "To hell with this!" he said suddenly. "I'm gettin' out of here!"
Nobody replied. Lonnie Foreman got up and walked over to the rocks to climb up and relieve Cates.
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