"I like to think so," Harris answered, bringing up into the front of his mind a clear image of the blonde girl's clear-eyed features. "Is that all. Major?"
The major giamted. "Damn it, I don't like this any more than you do. Don't stiffen up on me—I've seen enough of that today. Just pay heed to an old soldier's advice, Justin—and spike these rumors before they go any fiuther."
Harris shrugged his wide, loose shoulders. "I'm not sure how I'd go about doing that, su," he said. He saluted and went out.
Passing McCracken's desk, he stopped and turned, and put his suspicious glance on the sergeant-major's broad, red face. McCracken met his eyes with bland innocence. "Something I can do for you. Captain?"
"I guess not," Harris said, and added, "I never figured you for a gossip, McCracken."
"Why, what does that mean, sir?"
"Forget it," Harris said. He put on his hat and went out into the twilight.
An hour .later, after a bath and a shave and a change of clothies, he emerged from the officers' mess and stood on the edge of the parade ground, glancing up at the stars. He stretched, Hghted a cigar, and went across the compound through the night, his red cigar tip glowing and bobbing with his progress. On his way out of the garrison area, he saluted the guard and then tramped a well-packed trail toward the civilian camp, passing the end of the row of laundress shacks. The sound of a girl's calculated laughter came to him dimly from the saloon when he went by it; he continued to the sutler's store and went up onto the porch, and stood in the darkness a moment before he put his thumb on the doorlatch and went in.
The big, disorderly room of the store was warmly illuminated by oil lamps suspended on the walls. Chet Rand, the sutler, stood behind the beer counter talking to the only customer, Will Brady. Brady had changed out of his trail costume into town garb-broadcloth trousers and a colorful flannel shirt. The scout's unruly black hair needed cutting; it always seemed to need cutting. Brady grinned when he saw Harris and waved a half-full beer mug in greeting; Harris came forward, still wearing the troubled expression that had burdened him since leaving Major Cole's office, and said in a subdued tone, " 'Evening, Will. Chet."
"Sadie's out back in her room," Chet Rand said. He was a florid-cheeked man of some fifty years, dressed in a soiled and ill-fitting dark suit. "I'll tell her you're here, Justin."
Will Brady put up his hand in a gesture. "A little later, Chet. I want to palaver with the captain first."
"Why," Rand said, looking puzzled, "why, all right, Will." He drew a mug of beer and put it on the counter before Harris, and went back through the rows of drygoods to a rear door, through which he went out.
When the door had closed, Harris regarded the scout and said, "What's on your mind, Will?"
Brady indicated the full mug wth his hand. "Drink up. You just put that uniform on fresh?
"Yes."
"It's already dusty," Brady said. "Hell of a country." He set his mug down and hoisted himself up to a sitting position on the counter, swinging his legs loosely, lightly banging the counter-front with the backs of his bootheels. Presently he said, "George Sutherland was in here a while ago. Pretty drunk. Asked if you were here, and then left. Somebody's put a bee in his bonnet, Justin." Harris uttered a small groan. "Not you, too."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"The major gave me a little speech tonight.''
"So it's already got to him, has it?"
"Hell," Harris said, with a soft viciousness. "I'd like to go out and tell the world to mind its own business."
Brady chuckled. "That won't happen for a while yet, I suspect. I'll shut up if you want, but I just thought I'd warn you—Captain Sutherland looks like he's out for blood." Brady's emphasis on the word "Captain" was heavy and a trifle sarcastic; Harris knew, from many months of traiUng with Brady, just what Brady's opinion was of the B Company commander.
"Thanks for the warning," Harris said.
"We had a little excitement while you were gone," Brady said in an idle tone. "Tonio busted out. Pete and I went up after him and caught him at Yeager's ranch. He's back in the guardhouse now, plenty snug, I guess."
"Sounds like a good job done."
"Wasn't hard. Tonio's too young to have learned all the tricks yet. If he'd been smart enough, or a little older, we'd have lost him. A smart one wouldn't have headed for Yeager's—he'd have stayed in the rocks. Nobody could find a man in that rockpile soutli of Yeager's."
Harris nodded. "Did the major show you that telegram from General Sherman?" "He did."
"He made some remarks to me about the two of us going up to Inyo's camp to try and talk him into coming back to the reservation peacefully."
If Brady was surprised, he didn't show it. All he said was, "When?"
"The major's still waiting for orders." "My contract's up next week," Brady said. Harris's hand with the beer mug paused halfway to his mouth. He lifted it slowly the rest of the way and drank, looking closely at Brady over the rim of the mug. "You're not going to quit us now, are you?" "I'm thinking on it," Brady said. "Listen, Justin, don't get your hopes too high. Talking to Inyo wouldn't do much good at this point." i
"Why not?"
"Inyo might be willing to come down, but I doubt we'd get much co-operation out of that pack of young bucks with him. And if we took this kind of a proposal to him, he'd have to hold a council of warriors. He may be a war chief, but he doesn't have the authority to tell any of them what to do when it comes to giving up the fight."
"Why shouldn't the rest of them accept the offer? It's a good one."
"Sure," Brady said softly. He shifted his seat on the counter. "But those young bucks have tasted blood, now. They know the smell of a fresh kill. They'll never get the kind of excitement on the San Carlos reservation that they're getting right now, raiding all over the Territory and downi into Mexico."
Harris shook his head. "I won't argue. You know them better than I do. But if they've got enough respect for Inyo's judgment, and if he's in favor of coming back to the reservation, it just might work."
"Sure," Brady said again. "It might. But it's a mighty thin chance. And you and I might get our heads cut off if we went into the middle of Inyo's camp and then they decided not to take up the offer."
Harris finished his beer and put down the empty mug. "That's the kind of business we're in," he answered. "We get paid to take risks."
"You, maybe. Like I said, my contract's up next week."
"Aagh," Harris said in disgust. "You won't quit any more than the major will—not until this thing's finished."
"Don't count on it, Justin."
"Just the same, that's one thing I'm not worried about," Harris hed. He went around the end of the counter and came back through the trough to the beer keg. "Want another?"
"Obliged."
Harris drew two fresh beers and sKd Brady's across the counter. Then he came around in front again and stood idly fingering a bolt of cloth on a wooden rack.
Brady said, "If you're worrying about Sutherland, maybe you ought to do something about it."
"Like what?" Harris demanded, wheeling on him.
Brady shrugged. "Talk to him—straighten this mess out before it gets bigger than you figured on."
Harris shook his head. "I know him better than that. You don't talk George Sutherland out of anything. He'll fight at the drop of a hat, but it takes a lot more to make him think. If he's got something in his head about me, I won't get it out by talk."
"Beat him up, then,'' Brady said in an offhand tone, and dropped off his seat. "I guess I've about emptied my bucket of wisdom for one night," he said, and grinned, and went out through the front door.
Harris shook his head, musing quizzically about Brady's strange, carefree personality, so much contradicting the man's physical powerfulness and heavy, craggy features.
Harris went back through the store to knock on the door that led into the Rands' living quarters.
Sadie Rand, all youth and blondeness and qu
iet prettiness, opened the door. "Dad's gone out to the saloon," she said immediately. "Do you want some coffee?"
Harris smiled. "Not on top of beer, thanks." He leaned forward, catching the point of her chin on his finger, and lifted her head for a kiss.
She seemed to notice his restraint; she came through into the store, closing the door behind her. "That was a cool greeting. Captain," she said in a playful tone. She glanced at the mug of beer in his hand and walked right past him to the counter. "Your friend left half a mug of beer," she said.
"Will Brady."
"I know. Dad told me he had something mysterious to talk to you about." She picked up Brady's half-mug of beer and put it to her lips, and drank in sips. Harris followed her forward and stood six feet distant, watching her with affection plain in his eyes.
She looked up, meeting his glance, her eyes holding his over a lengthening moment of stillness. Her gaze was too level—she had something on her mind.
Presently she said, "Captain Sutherland was in here a little while ago. He was drunk and he was talking pretty loudly. I couldn't help but overhear." She folded her hands in front of her and cocked her head to one side. "I assumed he was under the influence of a conclusion that he'd jumped to.''
"He was."
"I assumed he didn't know what he was talking about."
"Hell," Harris said, hearing the disgust in his own voice. "Now you, too. You didn't believe what you heard then, but you're not sure now. That's it, isn't it?"
He rammed his hands in his pockets and thrust his head forward, staring at the floor. After a while, Sadie's voice came to him: "I only want a little reassurance, Justin. All you have to do is tell me it isn't true."
His head came up. "Either you trust me, or you don't," he said flatly. He swung and pushed his way out of the store, with the heat of rising anger stinging his belly and throat.
Brady worked with methodical thoroughness, running the steel currycomb along the sleek hide of his horse. A single lantern hung from a nail at the end of the stall, bathing the interior of the stable in a flickering yellow glow. He gave the appearance of a very content, very mild and carefree man. But the revolver hung ready at his hip and his ears were always attuned to the many sounds of the night, so that he was aware of Captain Justin Harris's approach long before Harris came into the stable runway.
"Howdy again," Brady said mildly. "Looking for something?"
"Sutherland," Harris said in a taut voice that revealed his anger. "I want to get this settled. Have you seen him?"
Without changing expression, Brady pointed over his shoulder with a thumb. "He s in that empty stall."
"What?"
"Drunk. I guess he slipped in there to sleep it off. Didn't want his wife to see him."
Harris came forward with a determined stride and peered into the dimness of the vacant stall. Brady watched him for a moment, then returned to his task of currying the horse. He heard Harris mutter something, after which the captain came forward and stood by him, watching him curry the animal, saying nothing. Brady said, "Where to now?"
"Home to bed," Harris grunted, swinging away. His walk was stiffer than usual.
Harris disappeared into the night and Brady continued his methodical task, moving around to the off side of the horse. When he was done currying, he rubbed the animal down carefully and slipped the almost-emptied nosebag off its head. He went forward to the water tiough and filled a bucket and brought it back for the horse. Finally he patted the horse's neck and put the bucket back where he had got it.
He was coming back to turn out the lamp when something disturbed him. He stood still, frowning. Then he heard a muffled scratching issue from the vacant stall where the diunken officer was sleeping. Brady grunted and moved toward the lamp.
By the time he got to it, Sutherland was standing unsteadily in the mouth of the stall. "Brady," Sutherland said thickly.
"That's my name."
Sutherland shook himself. In the pale wash of moonlight his round face seemed cherub-like. He
Tubbed his hands up and down against the side of -lis trousers, looking around confusedly. "Did anyone •Ise see me here, Brady?"
Brady said, smiling, "I reckon half the men on the post saw you walking around tonight, Captain. You'd had a few drinks."
"Did I say anything?"
"You came into the sutler's and asked if anybody'd seen Captain Harris. That's all I heard you say."
Sutherland shook his head as if to clear it. "I was in the sutler's twice tonight," he said. "Who else was there?"
"How would I know. Captain?" Brady kept his voice and face expressionless. He reached up toward the lamp.
"No. Wait—leave the lamp burning." Sutherland looked puzzled. "Damn it, where's my saddle?"
"On your own rack down there, I'd guess."
Sutherland shook his head again, violently.
"Sure—sure. Well, thanks. Good night, Brady."
"Going somewhere, Captain?"
"A ride, I guess—clear my head." Sutherland was in pretty bad shape, Brady could see. The scout touched his hatbrim in acknowledgment. "I hope you feel better, come mornin'," he said, and walked out of the stable.
Brady waited on the porch of the adjutant's darkened oJBBce, standing back deep in the shadows, rolling a smoke and lighting it. The night sky was a velvet depth of indigos and blacks; a thin rind of moon hung a third of the way up, affording little illumination. Brady put his shoulderblades against the wall of the building.
Presently the faint splash of hght in the stable doorway was extinguished, and shortly thereafter a horseman issued from the place. Sutherland rode within ten feet of Brady. Sutherland's horse cHp-clopped across the dusty length of the compound. Dimly through the night, Brady heard a few soft words exchanged between the mounted officer and the trooper on guard; then Sutherland rode on out of hearing.
Brady pulled a last drag of his cigarette and tossed the butt out past the edge of the porch. He was about to turn down the walk when he caught the sound of muffled steps through the powder-dust. He stood still and looked back.
The shape advancing was a very tall, very thin one. Brady stepped to the edge of the porch and said, "Howdy, Emmett."
The tall man came right ahead until he was close enough to make out Brady's features.
"Howdy yourself," said Emmett Tucker, who was Justin Harris's company sergeant.
Tucker was thin to the point of emaciation; his hair, brick red, was gray in this Hght. "Scouting for Injuns on the adjutant's porch, Will?"
"Sure enough," Brady answered in a lazy tone.
"I just saw Captain Sutherland on his way out the gate. Wonder where he's off to at this hour of a black night?" Tucker spoke in an Alabama drawl. He might have been thirty-five or fifty; it was impossible to tell.
He leaned a long bony-fingered hand against the porch post and spat toward the ground. "Cap Harris said we might be doing some riding in the next few days. Up into the Arrowheads, just the three of us."
Brady chuckled. "You never get left out of anything, do you?"
"Wouldn't want to miss anything," Tucker repHed. And he added, in a tone of dry good humor, "Somebody's got to go along and wet-nm-se the captain."
"Captain Harris doesn't need any wet-nursing, Emmett."
"Sure," Tucker murmured. His rawboned face cracked into a grin. "Almost as good an officer as I was, I reckon."
"You were an officer?"
"That was another war," Tucker murmured. He swung away abruptly and plowed through the night, apparently headed for the saloon. Tucker didn't drink often, but when he did, he put Sutherland's performance of tonight to shame.
Presently, Brady turned down the porch and walked toward the officers' houses. The night was deep and still. His footsteps along the porch boards sent back crisp echoes. He dropped off the end of the porch and went through the dust, walking with measured paces, pulling his hat forward across his brow, passing the major's house and the adjutant's and Surgeon Clayton's and Just
in Harris's, and turning without hesitation up the stone-bordered walk of George Sutherland's house. A lamp burned inside; he lifted his fist and knocked.
Eleanor Sutherland owned a striking clear-featured beauty and the power to attract men strongly. And she knew it. When the door opened, she stood in dark silhouette against the hghted room; she tosSed her hair and Brady stood fast, letting her size him up, letting her take time to decide on her course of action.
It was some time in coming, but fmally she said, "Hello, Will."
He nodded and removed his hat.
"Well," she said a little dryly, "I suppose you want to come in." She stepped aside and swept her arm toward the room in a half-sardonic gesture. "Welcome to my parlor. Will."
Making a point of ignoring her sarcasm, he walked on into the parlor.
"Sit down. Will. What brings you, on such a fine night?" Everything she said seemed tinged with irony; he suspected it served mainly to cover up a monumental unhappiness; but that, for the moment, was not his concern. He sat, crossing his legs and hanging his hat over the lifted knee.
"I'll fix you a drink," she said, walking past him toward the kitchen, speaking over her shoulder: "That hat looks as though wolves have been chewing on it."
"I keep it out of sentiment," he said, matching her tone for dryness.
In a little while she came out of the kitchen with a half-filled tumbler of whisky in each hand. She put one on the table beside his chair, then looked around the sparsely furnished room with evident disdain. "You can't keep dust off things for five minutes here," she said, and shrugged, taking a place on the love seat facing him. She took a drink and regarded him blankly.
"Where I come from," Brady drawled, "ladies aren't supposed to drink hard Hquor in polite society."
"Since when is this polite society. Will?"
"I was under the impression your husband's an officer and a gentleman."
Her only response was a short laugh. She tossed her head back and watched him. Beautiful dark eyes she had; even now her beauty had the power to sway him, forcing him to maintain constant guard over his impulses.
She took another sip and said, in a far gentler tone, "It's been a long time since you've darkened my door, Will. To what do I owe the pleasm-e?"
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