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bee extremely sensitive to the moods of his rider。
The western man trusted to his horse's ears； its eyes； its senses。 He shared with it his water； and if need be； his food。
We moved forward quietly but steadily； and soon we saw their camp on a bench near the stream； partly hidden by brush and trees。 The stream was not over four feet wide and no more than four or five inches deep； and the canyon through which we had e evidently caught the overflow。
Rifle ready； I led the way； watching the camp from the corner of my eye。
Here the dry stream…bed was perhaps fifty feet wide； most of it white sand dotted with rocks； many of them half buried。 The brush was mostly willow； and thick。
It was a cool morning but I could feel sweat trickling down my back between my shoulder blades； and I worried for fear a hoof would strike stone。 We went steadily on； drawing close to the camp； then abreast of it。
The Indians were almighty concerned with their prisoner； and they were shooting at him with arrows； missing in as close as they could； pinning the sides of his shirt to the tree； parting his hair with arrows。 There was a trickle of blood down his forehead which I glimpsed when he lifted his head； and for the first time above their yells I heard his voice； and he was singing。
It was Spanish Murphy。
Yes； sir。 Spanish was tied to a cottonwood in the clearing and the Apaches were shooting arrows at him and working themselves up to more serious ways of hurting 。。。 and he was singing！
Oh； they hated him for it； but they loved him for it； too； if I knew Indians。 For their prisoner was a man with nerve； singing his defiance right into their faces 。。。 and it was also a means of keeping up his courage。
They would kill him； all right。 They were devils when it came to inflicting pain； and they would try to make him last as long as possible； devising new tricks to give him the tortures of hell； and loving him for his strength and his guts。
Spanish was a singing man who loved the sound of the old songs； the western songs； the songs from the high…up hills。 He was singing 〃Zebra Dun〃 when we caught sight of him and； raising his head； he looked right through an open space in the brush； looked right at us； and he changed his tune to 〃John Hardy。〃
〃John Hardy was a desperate man； he carried his two guns every day。 He killed a man on the West Virginny line； but you ought to see Tell Sackett gettin' away； I want to see Tell Sackett gettin' away！〃
There he was； a…warning me。 Him in all that trouble； but thinking most of us getting out of there。 And me； I daren't stop； for I had a girl and a small boy depending on me。 But this I did see。 There weren't more than inine or ten Indians there； so far as I could see； they were all warriors。
We went on； our skins crawling with fear for Spanish Murphy； and also with fear for ourselves。 We were beyond their camp now； but were expecting any moment to hear a yell behind us and to see the Apaches e streaming after us。
The thing that played into our hand was that the Indians probably had no idea there was anybody else about。 They had either killed the others； or they'd taken out running。
Fifty yards beyond their camp the canyon took a bend； and when we had it behind us we felt some better。 I decided we didn't have much time before those 'Paches got down to serious business with Spanish。 I knew I had to get him out of there； and I had to do it before he was hurt too bad to travel。
When we had gone a little way I pulled up。 〃You'll have to go on alone from here；〃 I said to Dorset Binny。 〃Do you know Sonora？〃
〃No。〃
〃The Apaches have run most of the folks off their ranches north of here； and the few who are still there won't fight back。 I'd say ride due west and watch for a trail。 If you can find a ranch； ask them to take you in and hide you。〃
She lingered； and I said； 〃Whatever made you try this； anyway？〃
〃There was nobody else to e。 I didn't want my sister growing up an Apache。〃 She hesitated。 〃Not that what we had was so much better。 Since Pa died I've been trying to ranch； but we haven't done very well。〃
〃You ride west；〃 I repeated。 〃I don't need to tell you to be careful。 You didn't get this far riding it blind。〃 I swung my horse； lifting a finger to my hatbrim。 〃 'Bye； Dorset。〃
〃Good…bye； William Tell；〃 she said； and they rode away up the canyon and I turned back。
I had no idea in my mind at all about what I was going to do。 How does a body go about taking a prisoner away from blood…hungry Apaches？ I couldn't just open fire。 In the first place； they'd scatter out； pin me down； and surround me in no time。 Also； they might just up and kill Spanish right off。
All the time there was a…nagging at me a thing I knew about Indians。 Ninety…nine times out of a hundred a man who rides into an Indian camp is safe as long as he stays there … that is； if he rides in of his own notion； and not forced。
It was a long chance； for we were already shooting…enemies。 They most likely knew me by sight by this time。 Yet try as I might； I just couldn't e up with any other idea。 But what to do when I got into their camp？ How to get Spanish out of there？
I could get along in the language。 Not that I was an easy talker like Tampico Rocca； but I could make out。
Spanish Murphy was in this fix because he had chosen to ride with me to Mexico； and it was up to me to take him from those Apaches； or to die with him。
I was packing plenty of iron。 My Winchester was loaded； and I carried a six…shooter in my holster； with which I'd always been considered unmonly swift There was another six…shooter tucked into my belt。
So I swung my black horse up that bank and rode in amongst them。
For a minute there； you never saw anybody more surprised。 These were Netdahee Apaches … killer warriors … dedicated to wiping out their enemies。
Now； as I've said； the Indian is a curious sort of man。 They were bred to battle； and among the Apaches the Netdahee were the fiercest； a warrior society of chosen men。 They appreciated nerve； but they were curious； and maybe they wanted to see what I was going to do。 Maybe it was because I was inside their camp； but nobody lifted a hand。
My eyes took in the lot of them； methodically picking the ones at whom I would shoot first。 If trouble started I'd have small time to pick targets； but if I could nail a few of them 。。。
〃Greetings！〃 I spoke to them in Apache。 〃I have e for my friend！〃
Chapter 9
They turned like tigers at bay； cornered； their black eyes staring。 Of the nine of them； one was wearing an old Army coat； another a faded red shirt； and the others were naked except for breech…clouts and knee…high； Apache…style moccasins。
One held a rifle； two had pistols； and one held a bow and a handful of arrows。 The others were armed only with their knives。 Their rifles and bows lay near the fire。
The Apache with the bow and the one with the rifle； those I'd take first。 An Apache can shoot his arrows just as fast as a man can work the lever on a Winchester 。。。 and they made a nastier wound。
〃The man you have tied is my friend。 We have e far together； and we have fought well together。 He is a good man in the desert or in the mountain