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eace； there was always some drunken white man or wild…haired Indian ready to make trouble。
When an Indian made war he made war on women and children as well as on men； and even the friendly white men found it hard to be friendly when they came home and found their cabins burned； their women and children killed。 On the other hand； the politically appointed Indian agents and the white men who wanted Indian land or horses would rob； cheat； and murder Indians。
It was no one…sided argument； and I knew it。 But now the Apaches had stolen some children and taken them into Mexico； and we were going after them。
We rode through the last of the afternoon and into the cool of the evening。 We camped that night in some ruins； half sheltered by adobe walls； and at daybreak we rode out。
On the second night we stayed at Pete Kitchen's ranch。
Chapter 5
We rode south for a few miles after leaving Pete Kitchen's place； then turned off the main trail toward the east。 Now； a man who leaves a trail in the desert had best know exactly where he is going； for his life is at stake。
Travel in the desert cannot be haphazard。 Every step a man takes in desert country has to be taken with water in mind。 He is either heading for water； or figuring how far he will be from it if he gets off the trail。 The margin of safety is narrow。
All of us had been south of the border； but it was Tampico Rocca who knew most about it； with me ing second； I suppose。 Like everybody else； we had to depend on waterholes； and no matter what route we chose； sooner or later we had to wind up at those watering places。 This was just as true for the Apaches。
The desert has known waterholes； but it also has other waterholes not generally known； usually of limited capacity and usually difficult to find。 Birds and animals know of those places； and so do the Apaches in most cases。 If you did not know of them you had to know how to find them； and that was something that did not e easy。
A man living in wild country has to be aware of everything around him。 He has to keep his eyes looking； his ears listening； his every sense alert。 And that doesn't mean because of Apaches； but because of the desert itself。 You can't fight the desert 。。。 you have to ride with it。
The desert is not all hot sun and sand； there's the rocks too。 Miles of them sometimes； scattered over the desert floor； great heaps of them now and again； or those great broken ridges of dull red or black rock like the broken spines of huge animals。 They shove up through the sand； and the sand is trying hard to bury them again。
In much of the southwestern desert there's even a lot of green； although the playas； or dry lake beds； are dead white。 Some of the desert plants hold back until there's a rain； then they leaf out suddenly and blossom quickly； to take advantage of that water。 But much of the greenness of desert plants doesn't mean that rain has fallen； for many of the plants have stored water in their pulpy tissues to save against drought； others have developed hard…surfaced leaves that reflect sunlight and give off no moisture to the sun。
Plants and animals have learned to live with the desert； and so have the Apaches。 And we； the four of us； we were like Apaches in that regard。
The desert is the enemy of the careless。 Neither time； nor trails； nor equipment will ever change that。 A man must stay alert to choose the easiest routes； he travels slow to save himself； he keeps his eyes open to see those signs which indicate where water might be found。 The flight of bees or birds； the tracks of small animals； the land of plants he sees … these things he must notice； for certain plants are indications of ground water； and some birds and animals never live far from water。 Others drink little； or rarely； getting the moisture they need from the plants they eat or the animals they kill。
We rode until the sun was two hours in the sky； and then we turned off into a narrow canyon and hunted shade to wait through the hottest hours。 We unsaddled； let the horses roll； then watered them at a little seep Rocca knew of。 After that； with one man to watch； we stretched out on the sand to catch some rest。 There always had to be a man on watch； because the Apaches were great horse thieves； though not a patch on the anches； who could steal a horse from under you whilst you sat in the saddle。 You either kept watch or you found yourself afoot； and in the desert； unless you're almighty canny； that means you're dead。
First off； when we rode into that canyon we studied the opening for sign。 A man in wild country soon gets so he can read the trail sign as easy as most folks read a newspaper； and often it's even more interesting。
You not only read what sign you see on the ground； but you learn to read dust in the distant air … how many riders there are under that dust； and where they're headed。
The droppings left by horses also have a story to tell； whether that horse has been grain…fed； whether he has been grazing off country grass or desert plants。
And no two horses leave the same track。 Each is a mite different； and their gaits are different。 Their hoofs do not strike with the same impact； and sometimes there's a difference in the way they are shod。
We could tell that nobody had been in that canyon for weeks。 We knew； too； that most of the time during the months of June； July； and August in Sonora you'll get some rain。 Sudden showers that may be gone as quickly as they e； but enough to settle the dust and to fill some of the 〃tanks〃 in the desert mountains。
Among those desert ridges such tanks are frequent； pits hollowed in the rock over the centuries by driving rain； or shaped by run…off water。 During heavy rains these tanks collect water and hold it for weeks； or even for months。 We'd had some rain； so the better water…holes and tanks were holding water now。
Shortly before sundown； rested by our nap in the shade； we saddled up again。 This time I took the lead。
There were clusters of cholla and ocotillo； and we took advantage of them as much as possible to shield our movements。 The route we used was an ancient one rarely traveled in these days； but from time to time we'd pull up near a clump of brush where the outlines of our horses and ourselves would merge into the growth； and there we'd set； studying the country around us。
You might think that out in such open country； with no good cover anywhere； a body wouldn't have to worry； but knowing Apaches the way we did； we knew that twenty of them could be hidden out there in a matter of yards； and nobody the wiser。
We were taking our time； saving our horses。 An Apache； who often rode his horses to death； will make sixty to seventy miles a day if he's in a hurry。 On foot he'll cover thirty…five to forty miles a day even in rough country。 That was about what we were doing a…horseback。
About an hour after dark； we rode down into a little hollow choked with mesquite brush and built ourselves a tiny fire of dried wood and made coffee。 The fire was well hidden in the hollow and the brush； and it gave us a chance to get the coffee we dearly needed。
〃What you think？〃 Rocca said suddenly。 〃One rider？〃
〃Uh…huh；〃 I said； 〃a small m