"All right." Brady walked toward the bam, leading his horse. When he looked back, he saw Yeager's heavy-set frame disappear into the house. He grinned, niLising over Yeager's strange code of ethics —like a man walking a tightwire, Yeager was, tiying to please everybody at once.
Brady put up his horse in the bam and came out again, standing in the shadows and building a brown-paper cigarette. He knew the speed with which an Apache on foot could cover giound. He expected Tonio to show up, if he showed up at all, sometime within the next fifteen minutes.
So thinking, he retumed into the bam long enough to get the rifle from his saddle scabbard, and then went across the yard to post himself in the shadow of the corral corner. Crawling between the fence bars, he peered out thi-ough the fence. Around him several horses milled for a restless moment and then, becoming used to his silent presence, quieted down and ignored him. Along the edge of timber, shadows flickered, keying up his nerves; he knew he would have no indication of the Apache's presence until Tonio came onto the meadow. Impatiently he cursed the blocky obstmctions the ranch buildings created. The door to the house was shut. Yeager had gathered his brood and was now sitting it out in stony neutrality.
Brady gave himself a one-in-ten chance of capturing Tonio here. Tonio might become suspicious or he might have spotted Brady back along the mountain paths somewhere, or he might have spotted Pete Rubio behind him. Any number of things might make the Apache too wary to come down to Yeager's. Brady rehed on Pete Rubio's skill. Rubio was as good a scout as could be found in the Territory.
He pulled down the Winchester's lever and kept his thumb over the hammer, and waited that way, outwardly patient, inwardly tense.
Even so, he almost missed it when it came. Glancing across the corral between the legs of slowly moving horses, he saw the softly flitting brown breech-clouted shape. It had to be Tonio; there was no other possibihty. A tense grin settled across Brady's rugged features and he turned slowly sideways to bring the rifle to bear in that direction. The Apache was suspicious, uncertain, careful. He had come out of the woods beyond the end of the corral.
Tonio came forward in spurts, halting at a crouch every few yards like an antelope. As the Indian advanced, certain things became visible to Brady: Tonio carried a Springfield cavalry carbine, and there was a long scabbed bruise across his shoulder where one of the guards must have struck him during his escape. He was seventeen, wiry and brown. The bodies of horses obscured sight of him when he made his final twenty-yard run to the corral. Brady's thumb eared the Winchester's hammer back; still, he made no move. The oncoming Indian's run was soundless, the practiced run of a hunter.
Crouching in the corner shadow, Brady had a glimpse of the Indian slipping into the coral between the logs of the fence. A moment later he saw Tonio's lean figure moving toward the gate, and freezing beside it, swept the buildings with his glance before he reached for the gateclasp.
That was when Brady stood up to his full height and trained the rifle on Tonio and spoke without raising his voice: "Stand still, Tonio."
The Indian was not stupid. He stayed where he was.
Brady walked forward along the fence, keeping part of his attention on the horses bunched in the corral's far corner. If any of those horses took a notion to move around, it might give Tonio a chance at escape. Brady just had to hope. He moved in rapid strides, speaking quietly: "Drop the rifle and kick it away from you."
Tonio obeyed. Now his head came around and Brady saw the glint of anger in his eyes. Brady stopped Bve feet away and said without emotion, "It was a good try, youngster. Lie dovm on your face, now—I'm going to tie your hands behind you. Don t give me trouble."
Tonio went to his knees, then flat; he put both hands behind him, saying nothing. Brady knelt by the rifle Tonio had dropped and took the sling off it, and moved forward with care. The youth gave him no fight; in a moment he had Tonio's wrists bound tightly with the carbine-sling, and stepped back. "All right. You can stand up."
Tonio stood and met his glance evenly, betraying nothing of his feelings. He said, in the peculiar accents of Agency School EngHsh, "Will they kifl me when we return?"
"Probably just put you back in the calahozo," Brady said. "You haven't hurt anybody, far as I know. That guard you walloped was coming to before I left yesterday morning."
Tonio made no reply. Looking over the Indian's shoulder toward the timber, Brady saw Pete Rubio riding unhurriedly forward.
Rubio came up, drew rein just outside the fence and said mildly, "I let him know I was behind him. He knew he couldn't out-run me without a horse."
"Like driving stock into a box canyon," Brady observed. "Good job, Pete. Keep your gun on him while I saddle up a horse for him."
"Sure," Rubio said laconically, dragging out his rifle. He laid the rifle across the crook of his elbow and let it hang there, seemingly unaimed. But the muzzle was lined up squarely with Tonio's chest. "Better luck next time, muchacho," Rubio said, and smiled through uneven teeth. It was not an unfriendly smile.
Brady went to the tackshed and emerged with an old leather-cracked saddle, a blanket, and a bridle. He singled out an unprepossessing bay horse with a white nose blaze, backed it into a corner and saddled it. Then, he stepped into the saddle and let the horse buck the kinks out under him. When the horse and the dust had settled down, he stepped to the ground and led the bay to the side of the coiTal. Tonio stood with his arms tied behind him and his thin young face composed into a blank mask. Rubio sat his saddle lazily with the rifle across his elbow, watching unblinkingly, chewing a cud of tobacco and now and then spitting out a brown stream of tobacco juice.
"Come on," Brady said. "I'll give you a boost up."
Tonio offered no resistance. With the Apache in the saddle, Brady led the horse outside, closed the corral gate, and handed the reins up to Rubio. "Wait here," he said, and dog-trotted across the yard into the bam. He mounted his own horse and rode from the barn, turning up toward the main house. He called out: "Yeager, come out here."
In a moment the door swung open and Yeager's heavy shape moved out onto the porch. The buflFalo gun still hung from Yeager's grasp. "I see you got him."
Brady nodded. "I'm borrowing your blaze-faced bay to tote him back to the fort. Next time Fm up this way Til leave the horse off for you. Here's a dollar for the trouble." Brady tossed a silver dollar towards Yeager's beard.
Yeager's left hand came up with surprising swiftness to intercept the coin in mid-air. He dropped the dollar into his pocket and grunted. "Just you make sure he gets returned. I don't aim to wait six months. And one other thing, Brady." "What's that?"
"You make good and damn sure that Apache kid don't get loose again. If he tells Inyo that he saw you flip me money after you picked him up here—"
"Sure," Brady said, smiling. "I'll look out for your interests, Yeager. But just the same, you'd be better off if you moved down to the fort. Apache squaw or no, Inyo's going to make a target out of your outfit pretty soon. He needs supplies and he needs horses."
"I can handle Inyo all right," Yeager growled. "Now get that kid out of here before one of Inyo's bucks spots you."
Brady wheeled his horse away from the house. Rubio, leading the bay horse with their captive, had already moved from the corral fence. Brady caught up and said, "Wait a minute, Pete," and dismounted, taking a rawhide piggin string from his ovra saddle. He walked across the few feet separating him from the mounted Indian and used the piggin string to last Tonio's left foot firmly into the stirrup. "That should keep you from jumping off," he observed, and went back to his own horse. "Pete, you'd be surprised how fast an Apache can run with his hands tied behind."