6

Sergeant Brick Noonan lay in his blankets and listened to the activity and talk of the camp slowly die down. His shoulder throbbed with every beat of his pulse. Once again he reviewed the events of the afternoon that led to his intentional wounding. He had told Kirby at the very beginning to warn the men against shooting at a uniform that bore sergeant’s stripes since he himself would be wearing that uniform. The shot that hit him came from the left, on which arm he wore his sergeant’s chevrons. There could be no mistake about it; the shot was deliberate.

According to his own close reasoning, Noonan was certain that Kirby had fired the shot. Noonan thought he knew why. Kirby was the only man in this collection of riffraff who would have the brains to assess the situation there in the malpais. Kirby undoubtedly saw that he was in complete command of the situation, that he could successfully bar the wagon train from water, and that the guns would eventually be his, either by waiting for the train to run out of water and surrender, or by attacking it when it moved and forcing it to corral, still without water. That being the case, why should he, Kirby, share with another man the loot from the sale of the guns?

So Kirby had shot him, just as he would have shot Kirby in similar circumstances. Only I’d have made sure I killed him, Noonan thought. That’s where Kirby had made his mistake. Troopers of the detail had told Noonan that for moments, when his horse had halted and he was in a state of shock, he was a sitting duck for a good many of the rifles. Apparently Kirby thought he had done the job; the others had been warned not to shoot at him.

When Kirby learned that his bullet in the back had been too high, then Noonan knew that Kirby would not stop until he had succeeded in killing him. From now on Noonan was number one on Kirby’s list.

Ever since the pain of his wound had slacked off a little, Noonan knew what he was going to do. Now he listened to the small night noises of the sleeping camp—The stirring of horses within the circled wagons, the snoring of the exhausted men and, even more faintly, the slow pacing of the sentries. He waited another fifteen minutes to be sure the camp was asleep, and then painfully crept out of his blankets. He made sure that his pistol was in its holster before stooping down to pick up his hat. As he strolled out away from the wagons, he put on his hat, and waited until one of the sentries on his round approached.

“Cleary,” he called softly.

“Who is it?” a voice challenged.

“Me. Noonan.” Noonan walked up to the sentry, who halted.

“I’m going for a walk. Don’t shoot me.”

“What the hell for?” Cleary demanded.

“I can’t sleep with this shoulder,” Noonan said. “If I walk around the wagons I’ll spook somebody and they’ll take a shot at me.”

Cleary was silent a moment. There was sense in what Noonan said, but he knew what would happen if Overman spotted Noonan’s absence. But why should he? He wasn’t counting his men on the hour. Besides, what harm would it do to let Noonan past?

“Go ahead,” Cleary said. “Only remember, we’re breaking camp when the moon rises.”

“I’ll be back long before that,” Noonan said. He moved past Cleary and within seconds was lost in the darkness.

Noonan made his exit from the camp and headed west. Now he made a wide circle of the camp, picked up the road, and headed east toward the near malpais. He wondered, grimly, if Kirby’s guard would shoot first or challenge him. He wasn’t long in finding out.

He had moved into the malpais less than a quarter-mile when a gun flared in the road ahead of him. The bullet ricocheted off the road and whistled as it touched his hat.

“Quit it!” Noonan shouted. “It’s me! Noonan! Brick Noonan!”

“Put a light on yourself,” a voice called back.

Brick was ready for this too. He pulled out a match from his blouse pocket, wiped it alight, and held it in front of his face. He heard the sound of approaching boots and he waited. Undoubtedly the shot could have been heard at the wagon train, but what did it matter? He was more concerned as to whether it had been heard in Kirby’s camp.

A man approached, and Noonan said, “Who is it?”

“Bill Earl.”

“Where you camped?”

“At the Wells.” There was a pause. “They know back there you’re gone?”

“I just walked out,” Noonan said. “I’m with Kirby from now on.” Then he added, “Move up closer to the edge of the malpais. They’ll be breaking camp at moonrise. Keep an eye on them.”

At the man’s grunt of assent, Noonan went on. Presently he came to the captured wagon, and out of curiosity he struck another match against the wagon side to see what Kirby had done with the freight. It had simply been dumped into the malpais, undoubtedly the result of Kirby’s hopeful search for the rifles. Ahead of the wagon two dead horses had been dragged to the side of the road. Their legs were stiff, their bellies bloated. The other three teams, Noonan knew, were probably at Kirby’s camp.

He walked on, and began to feel a lassitude that he knew he must fight. He had lost a lot of blood before his shoulder had been attended to, and it was telling on him. Ahead of him he could dimly see a notch in the night sky that told him he was approaching the end of the malpais. And now he lifted his gun from its holster. As quietly as possible he moved forward, wondering if Kirby would have a sentry posted at the camp.

He saw the man before the sentry saw or heard him. The man was outlined against the night sky as he slowly tramped back and forth across the road. Noonan moved silently toward him until he was within earshot and then said quietly, “It’s me, Brick Noonan.”

The sentry wheeled and lifted his rifle.

“Don’t shoot. I’ll strike a match,” Brick said evenly. Again he struck a match and held it in front of his face, and the sentry came forward.

“Was that you that shot?” the sentry said.

“That was Bill Earl shooting at me,” Noonan said. “Did it wake the camp?”

“No. It was too far off The man paused. “Are you hurt?”

Noonan threw the match away. “A little,” he said. “Know where Kirby’s sleeping?”

“I’ll show you.”

“Let’s go quiet,” Noonan said. “No sense in waking everybody.”

The man moved ahead and Noonan followed. Only a few yards beyond where the malpais ended was the old adobe stage station that had been abandoned. As at all desert wells, there were stunted trees around the water. Noonan could see well enough now to note that the men were scattered over the bare ground between the spring and the adobe. The guard circled them, and finally halted near a snoring figure.

Brick whispered now, “Let me wake him. Got a candle?”

For answer the man moved over to the edge of the spring, leaned down, and picked up a lantern, which he handed to Noonan. “Kirby got it from Layton today.”

“Good. You better get back to your post.” The sentry turned and disappeared into the night. Now Brick gently put the bale of the lantern in his left hand and found he couldn’t hold it, so he pushed the bale up around his wrist. Softly, gently, he cocked the gun, muzzling its click against his blouse before he walked silently to where Kirby lay sleeping. Kirby was on his back and Noonan could hear his even breathing.

Then Noonan pointed his gun and shot Kirby in the face.

The bellow of the gun brought the men out of their blankets, and Noonan called out again, “It’s me, Brick Noonan. Don’t shoot.”

“What was that shot?” somebody called.

“Come over and see, all of you,” Brick said, and the men stumbled toward him in the darkness. To the first man who approached, Brick handed the lantern. “Light it,” he commanded.

The man set the lantern on the ground beside Kirby, lifted the chimney, struck a match, and lit the wick. Only then by its light did he see Kirby. He dropped the match and jumped back, and then looked at Noonan.

“Take a look, all of you,” Noonan said in a voice of iron.

The men did. One brief glance was enough for most of them; afterwards they looked at Noonan.

“Why’d you do that?” one of them asked.

Noonan touched his bandaged shoulder. “Because he shot me in the back today.” Noonan looked around the group, and he was smiling faintly. “Anybody object?”

None of them spoke up to ask how Noonan could be sure that it was Kirby who shot him. Kirby, never their real boss, was dead. Noonan, always their real boss, was still in command.

“A couple of you lug him into that adobe there, then come back.” Two men stepped forward, picked up Kirby’s slack form, and put him just inside the door of the tumbled-down building. The other men watched them go and return.

“Now listen, all of you,” Brick said. “The wagon train is heading back to Layton’s at moonrise. Once they’re strung out, we’ll attack them. They’ll have to corral again, and that’s just the way I want them. We’ll hold them there until their water gives out.”

He paused. “Better saddle up now. Let your horses drink, but fill your canteens first.”

As the men squatted to pick up their canteens, Brick looked at the adobe. By the dim light of the lantern he could see Kirby’s boots. He thought: It was your own idea, Kirby. How do you like it now?

Private Cleary halted in alarm at the distant sound of the shot which came from the malpais. Should he wake Lieutenant Overman to tell him? If he did, he ran the risk that Overman would rouse the camp and discover that Sergeant Noonan was missing. Had Noonan fired the shot, he wondered. No, Noonan had headed in the other direction.

After an agonized moment of indecision, Cleary knew what he had to do. Since the other three sentries were freighters, it was his duty as a trooper to inform his lieutenant of the shot. He went over to the freight wagon under which Overman was sleeping and found the lieutenant standing beside the wagon.

“You heard the shot, sir?”

“I heard it,” Overman said slowly. “I wonder what it means?”

“I couldn’t guess, sir. Quite a ways off, though.”

“Right. Go back to your post, Cleary. Report anything you see or hear.”

“Yes, sir.” Cleary walked away from the wagon with a vast sense of relief. Overman was not going to alert the camp after all. Now all Cleary had to worry about was Noonan being discovered by the lieutenant when he came back to camp. Well, that really wasn’t his worry. When it came down to it, he had simply deferred to a sergeant who outranked him.

Cleary’s stretch of ground to guard paralleled the road, and when he reached its easternmost limit he met one of the teamster’s sentries.

“Who’s shooting?” the sentry said.

“Don’t know. But the lieutenant heard it. If you hear anything, walk back and tell him.”

“If I hear anything, I’ll run back,” the teamster said drily.

Cleary turned and slowly walked his beat. When he came to the western end of it he paused. He was about to turn when he caught the ever-so-faint sound of footsteps out in the darkness.

He listened as they came closer. Then he called out softly, “Noonan, get back in your blankets.”

The footsteps halted, and then a strangely hoarse voice said, “I’m not Noonan. I’m Trooper Adams.”

Instantly Cleary brought up his rifle and said harshly, “Stand where you are, trooper!”

Slowly, his rifle ready, Trooper Cleary advanced. When he was close enough to see the almost diminutive figure of Trooper Adams, he halted. “Identify yourself,” he said.

“John Francis Adams, Squadron F, Fifth Regiment on special detail out of Camp McDowell.” His voice was still hoarse, and now he cleared his throat.

“What the hell are you doing out here?” Cleary demanded.

“You Army?” Adams asked.

Cleary now realized that his challenge was unorthodox and that this man had no way of identifying him as belonging to the Army. “I’m Trooper Jim Cleary, out of Fort Mohave,” he said.

“Where’s you commanding officer?” Adams asked.

“You got a match?”

“No, have you?”

“No,” Cleary answered. “I’m going to put my rifle in your back. Don’t try to run or I’ll let it off.”

“Run,” Trooper Adams said with quiet derision. “You couldn’t make me run.”

Trooper Cleary circled him, then prodded him with his rifle barrel. “Straight ahead and a little to the left. You’ll see the wagons in a minute.”

It was less than a minute. The pair of them halted by the wagon under which Lieutenant Overman lay on his blankets. Cleary said loudly, “Lieutenant, are you awake, sir?”

“Yes, Cleary,” Overman said sleepily.

“I’ve got a man here says he’s army. Can you strike a light, sir?”

Overman tumbled out of his blankets, fumbled in his pockets for a match, and struck a light. Before him he saw a small man, not much more than a boy. His blouse held the salt rime of sweat and his boots were in tatters. His face, oddly white, held a blond fuzz of beard, and the whites of his eyes, under swollen lids, were deeply blood-shot. He seemed to Overman on the verge of exhaustion.

The match went out and Overman said, “Sit down, trooper. Cleary, get him some food.” Overman turned to the lantern hanging on the side of the wagon, struck another match, and lighted the lantern. He set it on the ground beside Trooper Adams, who had accepted Lieutenant Overman’s invitation to sit down.

Out of the darkness Dave Harmon materialized as Overman extended a canteen to Adams. Hearing him approach, Overman turned to regard Dave, who gave him a quizzical look, but said nothing.

Adams drank until Overman reached down, pulled the canteen away from his mouth, and said, “Easy does it.”

When Adams relinquished the canteen, Overman said quietly, “Now, who are you?”

Trooper Adams identified himself, then briefly told his story of Lieutenant Miller’s detail. When he mentioned that the detail consisted of nine men and an officer, Overman glanced quickly at Harmon. In a toneless voice Adams told of killing Reardon, finishing with, “It was me or him, sir. I don’t reckon I could have made it from there to here if he’d hit me.”

“How long have you walked?” Overman asked.

“Three days, sir. It was slow going.”

Dave now asked, “Could you find the spot where your detail is camped?”

“Yes, sir,” Adams answered. “I followed a true north compass course. When I came to this road, I stacked up a pile of rocks to mark it.”

At that moment Cleary returned with food and a cup of cold coffee. Adams took them and began to wolf the food down, eating like an animal.

Both Lieutenant Overman and Dave watched him in silence, not speaking until his plate and cup were emptied. Then Overman asked, “How far do you reckon your detail is from here?”

“Forty miles maybe, Lieutenant. I can’t rightly tell. I had to rest a lot on account of the heat.”

“You say they had rations for another week?”

“Rations for ten men, sir.”

Overman looked at Dave and tilted his head. Both men walked out of earshot of Adams. Now three of the troopers, roused by the talk, came up to the lantern and began to quiz Adams, who answered their questions in a toneless voice of exhaustion.

Overman halted ahead and waited for Dave to come up to him. Then Overman remarked wryly, “Trouble on trouble, eh?”

“Good luck on bad luck, Dick,” Dave answered.

Overman regarded him with mild surprise. “How do we fight off this gang and still help Miller’s stranded detail?”

Dave said thoughtfully, “Why not let me take ten horses and ride down to them?”

“With ten horses missing, you think we can make it to Layton’s?” Overman asked dubiously.

“Let’s forget Layton’s,” Dave said.

“You mean stay here?”

Dave said, “With ten horses gone our water will go further, won’t it?”

“True,” Overman said. “But we’ll have to move sometime.”

“But when we move we’ll have Miller’s men added to your escort. With that many extra men we might fight our way through to King’s Wells. Maybe we won’t have to go back to Layton’s.”

Overman was silent for so long that Dave shifted his feet in impatience. Presently Overman said, “It just might work. I reckon they won’t attack us here while you’re gone, and if they did I think we could drive them off. Why should they attack when they figure we’re out of water and they’re keeping us from reaching it?”

Dave nodded assent. The whole camp was awake by now and most of the men were clustered around Trooper Adams, listening again to the story of his incredible journey. Juliana, and even Thornton, came over to question Overman about what was happening.

It was then that Overman announced the change in plans. Dave and one of his teamsters were to leave at moonrise with horses for the stranded troopers. The rest of the detail was to stay forted up here, and in the unlikely event they were attacked they had enough guns to defend themselves.

Lieutenant Overman then went over to the group clustered around Adams and described the new plan. When he was finished, he looked around the men. “Where’s Sergeant Noonan?” he asked.

“I’ll get him,” one of the troopers said. He disappeared into the darkness and presently returned. “He’s not in his blanket, sir,” the trooper reported.

“All right, Mahoney, go out and relieve the sentries, one by one. Tell them to report to me. Don’t leave until you’re relieved.”

To the still seated Adams he said, “Trooper Adams, roll into my blankets there. Get some sleep. Bosworth, you and Keef get a lantern and cut out the dozen best mounts we’ve got. No mules.”

The men scattered and Lieutenant Overman came back to Dave, who was stuffing food for himself and his teamster in the saddle bags with Juliana’s help. Thornton was watching them, and Overman came up in time to hear Thornton ask sullenly, “How many days will this add?”

“I can answer that, Mister Thornton,” Overman said flatly. “It’ll take as many days as necessary.”

Now one of Dave’s teamsters who had been on sentry duty approached. “You wanted me?”

“Yes. Did you pass Sergeant Noonan through the lines? Did you hear or see him pass through?”

“Not me.”

“Then get back to your post.”

Private Cleary was the second sentry, and Overman put the same question to him.

“Yes, sir, I passed him,” Cleary said. “His shoulder was hurting him so that he couldn’t sleep. He said he wanted to walk but that he was afraid someone might shoot him if he kept close to the wagons.”

Dave looked at Overman and said, “That could explain the shot we heard.”

“Did he seem delirious to you, Cleary?”

“I couldn’t see him, sir, but he sounded like he was hurting.”

Overman scowled. “We’ll have to wait till morning before we look for him. I can’t risk my detail hunting down a stray trooper who isn’t even attached to it.”

Juliana asked slowly, “You think he might have deserted to those people?”

“Hardly,” Overman said. “They shot him today, didn’t they?”

Although Dave held his silence, he thought Juliana could be right. He remembered the excellent horse Noonan rode and Noonan’s story of how he acquired it. He also remembered Noonan’s lack of papers, which Overman had sensibly ignored out of gratitude for an added rifle.

If Noonan had deserted to the enemy, there was little he could tell them that they didn’t already know. One thing Noonan couldn’t tell them was Overman’s decision to stay here and wait for the stranded detail.

Just after moonrise the supply wagon was pushed out of the circle, and Dave, mounted on Noonan’s horse, rode through the break. He was followed by ten more animals with his teamster Solly Liston bringing up the rear. They headed west, picking up the road they had traveled over earlier that day. Three miles from camp Dave spotted the cairn Trooper Adams had built to mark the trail he had made through the desert. Dave, in the lead, and the band of horses turned south.

The malpais still held the heat of the day, but it was bearable. The jagged upended mass of rock took on weird and monstrous shapes in the moonlight, and Noonan’s men, waiting in the road, studied them curiously, commenting on their fantastic forms.

Noonan himself was a hundred yards away at the west entrance to the malpais, Bill Earl beside him. They had seen the lanterns lighted up and had assumed that the train was making up for travel. Dave’s exit with the horses had gone unnoticed by them, since the wagons lay between Noonan and Dave.

Now the lanterns were being doused and Bill Earl looked quizzically at Noonan. “It don’t look like they aim to move tonight.”

“They’ll move,” Noonan said flatly. “I heard the lieutenant give the orders.”

They waited impatiently for another half-hour, but all lanterns were out. The camp looked asleep except, of course, for the sentries Noonan knew were out. His wound was nagging now, and he felt a growing anger. At first he had thought the lanterns indicated that the train was getting ready to move; now he wondered if his absence had been discovered and if the lanterns had been lighted to search for him.

But why wasn’t the train being readied to move? Had his desertion alarmed Overman to the extent that he had changed plans? Why should it alarm him? If Overman questioned Cleary, all the trooper could tell him was that Sergeant Noonan had taken a walk out into the night.

Bill Earl’s voice interrupted his thoughts. “Hell, the camp’s asleep,” he said in disgust. “They’re waiting for daylight.”

“Maybe they are,” Brick agreed reluctantly. He had the strongest of impulses to attack the camp right now, but he also had an old soldier’s appreciation of the situation. The camp could be easily defended against five times the number of his men. Now that the moon was up, surprise was out of the question. They had the protection of the wagons, while his own men would be exposed on the flat moonlit desert. No, it would be foolhardy to risk an attack and lose advantage of numbers.

Now Brick said with assumed cheerfulness, “Looks like we don’t have to worry about them moving.”

“I thought you wanted ’em to move?” Bill said.

Brick shook his head. “Why would I want ’em to move? If they started to move and we attacked, they’d fort up again. They might just as well be here as a mile down the road. Wherever they are, they’ll be using up water.”

He turned and swung up on his horse. “Stay here until I send someone to relieve you, Bill.”

“You going back to camp?”

“That’s it. I’d rather sleep than watch them sleep.”

John Thornton came awake at earliest light and lay in his blankets thinking of the events of last night. It seemed to him that this whole business was the sheerest idiocy. Why should they be suffering these hardships for the sake of a few rifles that the Army could easily replace? Undoubtedly the Army wasn’t in need of the rifles or they would have sent many more men and used a far speedier method of transporting them than these lumbering freight wagons.

He thought now of Sergeant Noonan’s disappearance. Had the man deserted, as Juliana suspected, or had he walked off in delirium into the desert? Maybe he, too, was sick of being tied down to danger and privation by the presence of five crates of rifles.

Come to think of it, why couldn’t he leave, too?

The thought brought a strange surge of excitement. What was there to stop him from walking into the camp of their attackers? They didn’t want him; they wanted the rifles. In fact, they would probably welcome him, since it would mean one less defender of the wagon train. Then, too, he should have no trouble getting a mount. After all, the attackers had extra horses from the lost freight wagon. He could buy one of these horses and some food from them. Water was no problem, since there was a well ahead.

He pondered what Overman might say when he told him he was leaving. It didn’t really matter what he said, because he had no authority over civilians. If Thornton chose to travel by himself, it was assuredly none of Overman’s business. Anyway, why tell Overman anything? He was accountable to no one but himself.

What would Juliana think if he took off by himself? (Even in his own mind Thornton did not use the word desertion.) For some reason Juliana, these last few days, had grown away from him. Their friendship, which had ripened on shipboard, had been a precious thing to him at one time. He had even thought—no, intended—to ask her to marry him. Now he was glad he hadn’t. A certain willfulness flawed her character. She had sided with Harmon against him too many times on this trip. While she was pretty, she seemed as strong-willed as any man, and he could not imagine being married to a woman who did not respect his judgment and his actions. No, Juliana was not for him. Therefore, why should she even enter into his consideration of going off alone?

The camp began to stir and Thornton rolled out of his blankets and put on his townsman’s shoes. He was on his way to the nearest water barrel when he remembered Overman had forbidden them to wash with the precious water. It was at this moment that John Thornton, a man with almost a mania for cleanliness, made up his mind to desert.

At breakfast he found that, having missed supper last night, he was ferociously hungry. He saw Juliana and Overman at the small fire, went up to them, and gave them a good-morning. Juliana was mixing a batter of pan bread; one loaf was already baked and lay on a crate beside the fire. Overman was feeding more wood onto the fire.

Thornton went over to the round disc of bread, picked it up, and broke it in half.

“I was saving that for the hurt men, John,” Juliana said.

“Oh, I didn’t know,” Thornton said coldly. He felt himself grow red.

“I’ll take their breakfast to them as soon as I mix this.”

Lieutenant Overman said, “I’ll finish that, Miss Juliana, you go ahead with their breakfast.”

As Juliana spooned out the stewed apples, which had been soaked overnight, and the bacon onto two plates, she ignored Thornton. Overman was busy with the batter.

When Juliana was out of earshot Thornton said, “You’ve had time to consider my suggestion about the rifles, Lieutenant. Are you of the same opinion today?”

Overman looked up and nodded. “And I will be tomorrow and the day after, Mister Thornton.”

“I wonder what your superiors will say when I tell them of your decision?”

Lieutenant Overman stopped his stirring and stared at Thornton, his eyes hard. “They’ll hear of it from me, not from you. And whatever they think, I’ll take the consequences.”

“I hope there are some.”

“Just don’t try to create any, Mister Thornton, or you’re apt to be barred from Fort Whipple.”

“I don’t think you have that authority, Lieutenant.”

“I don’t claim it. I only claim that the Army punishes or rewards its own without outside help.”

“We’ll see,” Thornton said.

Lieutenant Overman put the pan bread in the Dutch oven and then covered the oven with coals. Presently Juliana returned and reported that both Bailey and Everts seemed to be doing well and that Bailey’s fever was almost gone.

“Aren’t we torturing them unnecessarily?” Thornton asked her.

“What do you mean by that, John?”

“They both need medical attention. Why can’t someone drive on ahead with them?”

Juliana looked at Lieutenant Overman, who was staring at Thornton. The lieutenant said drily, “Yourself, you mean?”

“I’d be willing to,” Thornton answered calmly. “I’m not a soldier and I’m not a teamster. You could spare me.”

“I could, but I won’t,” the lieutenant said grimly. “For your information, Thornton, both Everts and Bailey will be handling a rifle if we’re attacked. So will Juliana. So will you.” His voice held such contempt that Juliana looked away from Thornton.

When their breakfast was ready, it was full daylight and the blasting sun rose over the malpais. Again there was not a cloud in the sky and the day appeared to be like all the others since they had set out—murderously hot and bright.

The conversation at breakfast was sparse and strained, and Thornton knew that it was probably his fault. However, he cared the least of the three.

Finished with breakfast, Thornton prowled the camp. Troopers and teamsters were feeding and watering the horses and mules. On his round Thornton noted that the lone daytime sentry had been pulled in to sit in the shade of the wagons, since there was a clear view of the road leading into the malpais.

Thornton returned to his gear under a wagon, got his full canteen, slung it over his shoulder and moved between the wagons. To the teamster sentry he said, “I’m going to have a look at that black rock.”

“I wouldn’t if I was you,” the teamster said uncertainly.

“But you’re not me,” Thornton said. “I’m not Army, and I’m not working for Harmon. I’ll do what I please.”

“Then if I was you, I’d stay wide of that road. They’ll have a man there sure.”

“I intend to,” Thornton said, and went on.

It was that easy. The troopers and teamsters were occupied, and so were Overman and Juliana. If the sentry had been a trooper, he would have informed Overman immediately. But to a teamster, wholly without authority, Thornton’s words made sense of a sort. Nobody had authority over the civilian passengers.

Thornton headed for a part of the malpais well away from the road. He was not challenged or called back. When he reached the edge of the malpais he turned and headed for the road. He was so far from camp now that even if the sentry became alarmed there was nothing to be done. He would be in the malpais before they could reach him. Picking up the road now, he turned into the malpais, already feeling the heat of the road through his boots. He was less than fifty yards into the rock when a man stepped out from behind a huge chunk of lava, his rifle held at ready. The sentry peered behind Thornton and cautiously came toward him.

“You from the train?”

“I am.”

“We’re awake. Go back and tell your soldiers to come through if they can.”

“My good man, I’m leaving the train.”

The man looked puzzled. “Footin’ it?”

“You have extra horses. I want to buy one. Whom do I see?”

The sentry looked at him in bafflement. The situation was new to him. He’d been told to signal if the train started to move. Nobody had told him what to do if a fancy-talking man in a business suit and panama hat, a canteen slung over his shoulder, strolled into the malpais and asked to buy a horse. Perhaps this was some kind of a trap, he concluded. Slowly he walked up to Thornton and said, “Give me your gun.”

“I don’t have one.”

The sentry laid his rifle aside, pulled a pistol, stepped up to Thornton and searched him, then stepped back. He looked more baffled than before. “Well, if you ain’t got a gun, I don’t reckon you can shoot me. Go on through, but you’ll be on your own. I can’t leave here.”

“Thank you,” Thornton said civilly. He tramped on.

The sentry stood in the road and watched him go, wondering what Noonan would do to him for letting him through.

Thornton walked on past the looted wagon and alarmed half a dozen vultures that were feasting on the carcasses of the horses. As he drew his handkerchief against the stench, the birds vaulted into the air on slowly flapping wings, then hovered overhead. When Thornton was well past the horses, he turned and saw the scavengers descending again.

At the edge of the malpais he was challenged by a second sentry who simply put a rifle in his belly and circled him, then put it in his back and prodded him into the camp close by.

Thornton counted eleven men lounging in the sparse shade of the trees around the spring. He also noticed the abandoned stage station. Part of the wall by the door had fallen into the interior, but Thornton had no way of knowing that this had been done only that morning. The adobe’s wall had been caved in to cover Kirby’s body.

As Thornton approached the men, none of them stood up, and Thornton recognized Sergeant Noonan seated among them.

“Ah, Sergeant. We seem to have had the same idea,” Thornton said.

Noonan’s face still held the shadow of pain but he managed a wry smile. “I know why I left. Why did you, Thornton?”

“Simply to get out of there.”

Noonan scowled. “You got a message for me from Harmon or the lieutenant? They ready to quit?”

“No message,” Thornton said. “I came on my own.”

“To do what?” Brick asked, in a voice of puzzlement.

“Why, to travel on,” Thornton said. “I’m not connected with Harmon or the Army. I see no reason for being punished for their bullheadedness.”

“You don’t?” Brick asked softly. “Just what do you plan to do?”

“I know you have extra horses from that freight wagon back there. Whom do I see about buying one?”

“You see me about it.”

“Are all these men yours?” Thornton gestured to the listening men, none of whom had stirred from the shade.

“They’re mine.”

“Then you’re not a soldier after all?”

“Only lately,” Brick said drily.

“Ah,” Thornton said. “Now I begin to understand. You’re after the rifles, aren’t you?”

“I am.”

“You were to be the Trojan horse—the man in the enemy’s camp.”

“That’s it,” Brick admitted.

“Very clever,” Thornton said. “Now, will you sell me a horse?”

“We’ll talk about that later,” Brick said. “Why didn’t the train head back for Layton’s place last night, like the lieutenant said?”

Thornton looked puzzled and then comprehension came. “Oh, you left before the strange trooper came in.”

“Trooper?”

Thornton explained about Trooper Adams’ appearance. He told of Dave’s sudden decision to drive the mounts down to rescue Lieutenant Miller’s detail. “With nine more men,” Thornton said, “Overman thought they could battle their way through the malpais.”

Noonan listened with sharp attention, then considered the news. He did not consult with any of his men, who were watching him with interest.

“Is that trooper sure those nine men are alive?”

“They were when he left.”

Noonan reached up to his shoulder and absently felt of his bandaged wound. He was silent for so long that Thornton, standing in the sun, shifted impatiently. “May I sit in the shade?” he asked. Noonan didn’t appear to hear him, and Thornton moved over and sat down by himself in a patch of shade.

Presently Noonan said, to nobody in particular, “I guess this is my lucky day. Bill, will you get a horse for me?”

Bill Earl rose and skirted the well to the stone corral where the horses were penned up.

“Can you get one for me, too, Sergeant?”

Noonan turned his head and looked at Thornton. “You aren’t going anywhere, Mister. Just take it easy till I get back.” He paused. “I want that white shirt you’re wearing.”

Thornton stared at him in amazement. “You want my shirt? What for?”

“Flag of truce,” Noonan said curtly. “Me, I’m going to have a parley with the lieutenant. Now take it off.”

Thornton had no choice but to do what he was told. He stripped off his coat and shirt and gave the shirt to Noonan. His soft white flesh above his trousers and proper shoes was such a ridiculous sight that several of the men laughed.

When Earl brought a horse, Noonan mounted and said, “Hold him here,” then turned his horse around and disappeared into the cut in the malpais. When he came to the sentry closest to the camp he said, “I’m going out to make talk with the lieutenant. Keep me covered. Don’t shoot unless I do.”

The sentry nodded and started down the road a few feet behind Noonan.

At the edge of the malpais Noonan put his horse down the road, and with his good hand waved Thornton’s white shirt. When he judged he was just out of rifle range of the camp he halted and waited in the blazing morning sun. It was only a matter of minutes before Lieutenant Overman rode out to meet him, and now Brick drew his pistol and rested it on his leg. Overman approached and reined in. He, too, had a pistol in his hand.

“I take it you want to talk, Sergeant.”

“You can drop the Sergeant, Lieutenant. I’m not in the Army. You didn’t see my papers, did you?”

Lieutenant Overman only shook his head.

“So you’re talking to a civilian,” Noonan continued. “I’m here to make a deal with you.”

“Deal?” Overman seemed puzzled. “Go ahead and talk.”

“We’ve got Thornton. He walked into our camp and wanted to buy a horse. This is his shirt.”

“Oh, I believe you, Noonan, but who is the ‘we’ you spoke of?”

Noonan grinned. “My boys that stopped you in the malpais.”

Overman’s thin brown face held a faint smile of irony. “One of your boys must not like you much, Noonan, if he’ll shoot you in the back.”

“I took care of him. That’s why I left you, so I could get him.”

Now Overman said coldly, “State your business, Noonan.”

“I’ll trade you back Thornton for the rifles.”

“Rejected,” Overman said promptly.

“Then I’ll kill him.”

“I believe that.” There was a fathomless contempt in Overman’s tone.

Noonan was puzzled by Overman’s indifference to his threat. “I’ll leave his body where we’re talking now, so you can bury him.”

Overman’s face was impassive. “All right.”

“You don’t look like you cared a damn,” Noonan observed.

“I’ll regret his death, especially because it’s unnecessary.”

“That’s what I’m trying to tell you,” Noonan said. “It isn’t necessary. Just give me the rifles in exchange for him.”

Lieutenant Overman shook his head slowly. “Noonan, John Thornton walked away from the train by his own choice, knowing the danger involved. I’m not going to ransom him back with government property. He is a civilian and of age. The Army offered him protection and he refused it. It’s that simple.”

“Then if you want him dead, he’s as good as dead now.”

“That’s up to you. But if you kill him you’re more stupid than I think you are, Noonan. Since I refuse to accept your blackmail, Thornton’s of no use to you at all. Sell him a horse and send him on his way.”

“No, he’s a dead man. Last chance, Lieutenant. Do you want him back or don’t you?”

“Not on your terms, Noonan. That’s all.”

Noonan could not keep the anger out of his face and, seeing it, Lieutenant Overman could not resist a parting thrust. “I think you’d better leave now, Noonan. You leave first.”

“Why don’t you leave first?”

“Because if you’re going back to butcher a man like a hog, you’d shoot me in the back if I left first. Now, on your way.”

Cursing savagely, Noonan pulled his horse around and started back toward the malpais.