sound in the grass.
Twice we forded streams, three times we rode upstream or downstream in the water to lose whatever trail we might leave.
Once in the shade of great arching trees, while giving our horses a breather and a chance to drink at a small stream, I told them about Dorset Binny and the boy.
'If anything happens to me,' I said, 'find them and get them out of here.'
The other youngsters had been riding quiet, scared and hungry, no doubt. Had it been us alone we'd never have chanced stopping to fix grub, but the children needed it, and we found ourselves a likely spot. While Rocca stood watch and Spanish fixed some food, Battles and me turned in under a tree for some sleep.
It seemed like years since I'd caught more than a few catnaps.
When I woke up my mouth was dry, and I sat up, staring around, just taking stock. It was almighty quiet, a beautiful quiet such as you only find in the forest. Far off, we could hear the stir of wind in the pines, a wonderful sound.
Closer to, there was only the murmur of water around the stones of the creek, and a faint chirping of birds. It was a natural, friendly quiet Tampico Rocca and Spanish came over to me. Battles was on lookout, perched up among the rocks where he could keep out of sight and still look the country over. The youngsters were sleeping.
'Got any idea where we are?' I asked Rocca.
'I been thinking on it.' With his finger he drew a wavy line in the sand. 'This here is the Bavispe,' he said, and he pointed west. 'She lies right yonder. If we cross the river there's some ranches. I wouldn't count on there being folks about, but it could be. Mostly the Apaches have wiped 'em put, burned 'em out, or stole them out. But it would be a good place to stop. There'll be old walls, water, and grass.
'Next we head for the Santa Margaritas ... I know an old mining camp where we can hole up. Then we can head for Chinapa, on the Sonora River.'
'Sounds good.'
Spanish was chewing on a blade of grass. 'Fact remains,' he said, 'that we didn't get what we come for. We didn't find your nephew.'
Rocca was looking at me, watching me. 'The little ones,' he said, 'they know nothing of such a boy ... and they would know if the Indians had him.'
'I put no faith in women,' Spanish said, 'meanin' no offense, but did you ever ... I mean, you and your sister- in-law ... '
I looked right at him. 'I'll take no offense, Spanish--you've stood by me. I never saw her before we met in Tucson. I haven't seen my brother in some time ... never did talk to him about his affairs. Little time we had together we mostly talked about the old days and what become of folks we knew.' I looked around at them. 'I ain't been home much. I've been drifting.'
Nobody said anything for a while, and then Battles, who had come out of the brush, said, 'I figure you've been lied to, Sackett.'
'It don't make sense.'
'Any reason she'd want you dead? You got to realize ... not many come back from here. We ain't even sure we're gettin' back.'
'The children never heard of any other boy,' Rocca repeated, 'and they'd know.
And, Harry Brook would. He speaks the language pretty good, and there's talk around the Indian villages.'
Well, there was no use studying on it now. We had miles to travel. I said as much and we saddled up and moved down the creek.
Rocca rode with his head over his shoulder. I mean he was a worried man. When you see Apaches you're worried, but when you don't see them you're maybe really in trouble. They could be all around you.
When the shadows were beginning to reach out from the hills we came up to a ranch, four tired men with some tired children. As we neared it we spread out and I rode with my Winchester up in my hands, my eyes moving under the low brim of my hat, searching each shadow, each doubtful place.
No smoke ... no movement. Somewhere a blue jay fussed, somewhere a quail called into the stillness and another made reply. Otherwise it was still.
Nobody spoke, and we rode into the yard. Battles rode through the gate, and I went through a gap in the ruined wall. Spanish circled to the right, Rocca to the left.
The ranch was deserted ... a ruin. Fire had gutted it, and some of the stone walls had toppled. The windows gapped like great, hollow eyes that stared upon nothing. The barns were a tumbled mass of burned timbers and the fallen stones of foundation walls. Mesquite trees choked up the corrals.
But trees still shaded the ranch yard. Water ran from an iron pipe into a tank.
An oak limb had grown through an open window. In the patio the blocks of stone that paved it had been thrust up by a growing sycamore, which was now several niches through.
Once this ranch had been a splendid place, once the fields had been green and men had worked here, lived here, and loved here.
We rode into the thick grass where the ranch yard had been and we drew up. We heard only the wind ... only the trickle of water into the tank. John J. Battles looked slowly around and said nothing, and Spanish Murphy sat silent for a long moment. Then he said, 'This is the sort of place you dream about, when you're on a long, dusty trail, or you're in the desert and short of water.'
'We'd better have a look around,' I said. 'Tamp, you scout to the wall yonder.
Spanish can stay with the children.'
We moved out. A rabbit sprang from under my feet and went bounding away. We searched the place, but we found nothing, nothing at all.
There was a watch tower on one corner of the place, shrewdly built to observe the country around, but now partly masked by the tops of trees. While I took the first watch, Battles put some grub together for a meal.
The sun was warm and pleasant, but it bothered me for I could see too little in the open country to the west. Our enemies should come from the east, but trust an Apache to use the sun's glare if he figured on an attack. But the sun sank behind the mountains to to westward and I studied the country all around with great care, and saw nothing.
Where were Dorset Binny and the boy? If they had ridden the way we planned they should be not too far away, for our course had veered around and we, too, had come west.
From the watch tower I could study the terrain and my eyes searched out all possible hiding places. The position of the ranch had been well chosen. The place had a good field of fire in every direction and must have been easy to defend back in the old days, yet the Indians had taken it, burned it out, and more than likely killed everybody on the ranch.
It seemed to me at least fifteen to twenty men would have been needed to defend the ranch. Maybe they were shorthanded when the attack came.
In the last minutes of daylight, I saw them coming -- two riders, not over half a mile off.
I called softly to Murphy, who was closest and knelt by one of the openings left in the wall for a firing position. But I was sure right from the start. As they drew nearer I could see them clear enough.
Standing up on the tower I called out, 'Dorset! Dorset Binny! Come on in!'
Chapter 10
Laura Pritts Sackett was immaculate. She was cool, aloof, yet she managed to convey the idea that beneath that still surface there was turmoil, waiting to be exploited. A cold, emotionless young woman, she had learned very early that the appearance of deep emotion and passion beneath the quiet exterior was a tool and a weapon to be used, and so she had used it Her adoration for her father had resulted in hatred for all who in any way thwarted or opposed him.
As the days passed into weeks and she heard nothing from Mexico, she grew worried. Suppose, after all, Tell Sackett was not killed by the Apaches? Suppose he did return, and her falsehood was exposed? She was less worried, however, about being exposed -- she had no intention of remaining in Tucson anyway -- than about Sackett not being killed.
She knew enough about the Sacketts to know they had a way of getting out of corners. Suddenly, she made
