Trail Of the Apache and Other Stories (1951) Read Online Free Page A

plug and bit off a generous chew, mumbling, And I don't either. He moved the front of his open vest aside with a thumb and dropped the plug into the pocket of his shirt. I f igure it this way, Captain, he said. They know who's followin' 'em, and they know we ain't about to get caught in a simple jackpot like that one up yonder without n1/4eushin' it out first. So they ain't goin' to waste their time settin' a trap that we won't fall right into.
    Sounds good, Barney, only there's one thing that's been troubling me, Travisin said. Notice how clean the sign's been all the way? Not once have they tried to throw us off the track and they've had more than one opportunity to at least make it pretty tough. No Apache, no matter if he's drunker than seven hundred dollars, is going to leave a trail that plain that is, unless he wants to.
    He looked at the scout, suggesting a reply with his expression, and added, Now why do you suppose old Pillo would want us to follow him?
    Trail of the Apache Fry pushed his hat from his forehead and passed the back of his hand across his mouth. It was plain that the captain's words gave him something to think about, but he had been riding with Travisin too long to show surprise with the officer's uncanny familiarity with what an Apache would do at a given time. He was never absolutely sure himself, but for some unexplainable reason Travisin's judgment was almost always right. And when dealing with an unknown quantity, the Apache, this judgment sometimes seemed to reach a superhuman level.
    Fry was quiet, busy putting himself in Pillo's place, but de Both spoke up at once. I take it you're suggesting that the Indians are not really drunk. But what about that unconscious Indian back at the reservation? He asked the question as if he were purposely trying to shoot holes in the captain's theory.
    No, Lieutenant. I'm only saying what if, Travisin agreed, with a faint smile. Could be one way or the other. I just want to impress you that we're not chasing Harvard sophomores across the Boston Common. If you ever come up against a better general than Pillo, you can be sure of one thing he'll be another Apache.
    Though he was sure of Fry's and Ningun's judgment, Travisin sent scouts ahead to n1/4eank the pine woods before taking his command through.
    In another hour they were over the ridge, in the open, descending noisily over the loose gravel that was strewn down the gradual slope that led to the valley below. On level ground again, they followed the tracks to the north, up the raw, rolling valley, n1/4eat and straight from a distance; but as they traveled, the sandrock ground buckled and heaved into shallow crevices and ditches every few hundred feet. The monotony of the bleak scene was interrupted only by the grotesque outlines of giant saguaro and low, thick mesquite clumps.
    Even in this comparatively open ground, de Both noticed that Travisin and all of the scouts rode halftensed in their saddles, their eyes sweeping the area to the front and to both sides, studying every rock or shrub clump large enough to conceal a man. It was a vigilance that he himself was slowly acquiring just from noticing the others. Still he was more than willing to let the scouts do the watching. The damned stin1/4eing heat and the dazzling glare were enough for a white man to worry about. He mopped his face continually, and every once in a while pulled the white bandanna around his throat up over his nose and mouth. But that caused the heat to be even more smothering. He could feel the Apache scouts laughing at him. How could they remain so damned cool-looking in this heat! With every step of the horses, the dust rose around him and seemed to cling to his lungs until he would Trail of the Apache cough and cover his nose again with the kerchief.
    Ahead, but slightly to the east, he studied the jagged, blue outline of a mountain range. The Sierra Apaches. The purplish blue of the mountains and the soft blue of the cloudless sky