rought them to the canyon
perch. Just as they were about to top the ridge behind the mustanger camp,
the Pima held up a warning hand.

"Long knives...."

"Troopers?" They went to their knees and made a stealthy crawl to the
crest of the ridge.

There were troopers down there, all right. The Trinfans sat on their
saddles while an officer walked up and down before them. Running Fox put a
finger on Drew's arm and motioned to the left. The horses of the
mustangers were browsing in a small dell, their night hobbles unloosed.
Together the trio moved in that direction.

The Pima slipped ahead with a speed and efficiency of motion his
companions envied. He had the two nearest horses in hand, leading them
toward the bushes.

"Looks like we ride bareback." Anse caught at a hackamore, then mounted.

"Move!" Drew waved Running Fox to the other horse. "We can't wait to get
another horse. You ride for the Stronghold, make it straight to Rennie and
report. I'm stayin' here. I can say we were fired and Trinfan took me on
as a hand."

Anse was the better rider under these circumstances, and the better scout.
To wait to pick up a third horse was folly.

"What about Shannon?"

"Shannon'll have to wait!" Drew slapped the Texan's horse. It reared and
then pounded off. Drew turned to walk back to the camp. He rounded the end
of the ridge and stopped short. The round and deadly mouth of an Army Colt
was pointed straight at his middle, covering the disastrously empty pocket
of his money belt.

13

A lantern provided a very small and smoky light on a table of three boards
mounted on boxes. If the furniture was makeshift, the walls of the room
were not. Logs and adobe were just as effective for the purpose of
confinement as stone blocks. Drew sat up on a bunk shell of board holding
straw, and rested his head between his hands. He could follow the action
which had brought him here, trace it back almost minute by minute over the
past three days. How he had come here was plain enough; why was another
matter.

Lieutenant Spath, back in the mustangers' camp, might have accepted the
Kentuckian's story. Or he might at least have been uncertain enough not to
arrest him, if only Trooper Stevens had not been one of the patrol. Once
before Stevens had been most vocal about Rebs who were too free with their
fists. Spath's trooper guard, reporting the escape of Running Fox and
Anse, had condemned his captive fully as far as the lieu