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y idea。〃
His hand was at the bottom of the holster as he spoke。 He had only to bend his elbow to grasp the butt。 He bent his elbow suddenly。 His hand grasped his gun butt and suddenly he was choking with the lust to kill。 He drew …
The bullets smashed him in the belly like two fists； a hard one…two that set him back on his heels。 He put his left foot back to steady himself and started to lift his gun but when he got his hand up he found it was empty。
Confused； he stared blindly at his hand and then his knees buckled and he fell。 His body from the waist down was numb； yet his brain was alive and clear。 He tried to speak； to see the face of the man who stood there； watching him。 He tried to frame words but then the notion faded 。。。 this then was how it felt to die。
The last thing he remembered was the wet grass on his face。
Trace Jordan walked forward； circling a little； knowing his bullets had gone true； yet wary as always； taking no chances； estimating the danger of the man who lay there。
〃Maria Cristina？〃 Then she was ing toward him。 〃We must ride now。 They'll be ing。〃 He gestured。 〃Take his horse。 He hasn't covered the ground yours has。〃
Into the desert they rode。 Sand and more sand。 Rock； Spanish dagger； yucca； ocotiflo and broken lava。 It was a brutal heat…baked corner of hell。
The cacti cast weird shadows in the moonlit night and a low wind moaned in the scattered clumps of brush。 They rode in silence； knowing there was no returning now。 Another Sutton had died and made another mark against them。
The Sierra de San Luis pointed a rocky finger into the wastelands south of the border。 It was Apache country and it was the desert and the desert can kill。 This was the land that time and again had defeated armies of the United States。 This was the land of the peccary and coyote； the land of the rattler and the scorpion； of the prickly pear and the cholla。
In the moonlight even more than by day the desert is a place of weird and strange beauty。 One can live in the desert。 There are plants that provide food； there are plants and places that provide water。 But if one does not conform to the desert's pattern； one can die in the desert
They did not talk。 When the first light of dawn came he saw how her face was bruised and swollen and for the first time Trace Jordan was glad that he had killed a man。 Yet she did not plain； she sat her horse well and rode straight on into the awful wilderness to the south。 He looked back but saw nothing。 No riders； no dust； no movement。
Sweat trickled down his face and down his body under his shirt。 Twice within three hours great canyons split the desert floor。 They descended into them and they emerged from them。 And when he looked back a second time there was a dust cloud。 There were two dust clouds。
This was wilderness； raw； untamed。 There were no villages and no ranches。 It was the land of the Apache； the most dreaded guerilla fighter the world has yet known。 When it was almost noon he drew up and they dismounted； sponging out the mouths and nostrils of their horses。 And then they walked。
Dust settled on their faces and necks。 Jordan felt his neck growing raw from the chafing of his collar； stiffened as it was by sweat and dust。 His head ached； his mouth was dry； yet they pushed on and the heat waves moved in closer around them； blotting out the distance； leaving only a vast shimmering waste。
Twice； for short times； they rested。 Each time the dust clouds seemed closer。
〃You know this country？〃 he asked。
〃Down here？ No。〃
〃There is a place； the Canyon de Los Embudos；〃 he said。 〃Do you know it？〃
〃It is an Apache place。〃
〃There is water；〃 he said； 〃and a place to hide。〃
The country became increasingly broken and again they mounted。 Yet before many miles had passed Sutton's horse began to stumble。 The big red horse Jordan rode had rested well and fed well。 The distance seemed as nothing to him。 They dismounted again and walked on but Sutton's horse fell and lay there in the sun。
〃Take the food and the rifle；〃 Jordan said。 〃We'll leave him。〃
〃He will die？〃
〃No 。。。 after the sun goes down he'll get up。 He will find water then or join them when they e up。〃
So they walked on but his strength had not returned and after a while the horizon began to weave and dance before him and the mountains became like liquid and he went to his knees。 He got up at once and started on； tearing his collar wider。 The gun belts and pistols chafed his thighs。
They looked back and there were no dust clouds。 He looked ahead and three Apaches on ragged ponies stared stone…faced into their eyes。 It was too late for the rifle and he did not know if his hand was strong enough to hold a gun。
From under his black hat brim he looked at them。 Three tough men of the desert； their finely muscled bodies shaped like the land itself； of rock and sinew。 Being Apaches； they would have seen the dust clouds and they would be wondering about them。
Jordan gestured at their back trail 〃Enemy；〃 he said； then indicated Maria Cristina's battered face and touched his gun。
They were impassive； their black eyes studying him。 He was sunburned and as dark as any of them； only his eyes were gray。 Maria Cristina looked at them but said nothing。 Her man was talking and this was man's business。
〃Indio？〃 An Apache pointed at her。
Jordan gave the sign for half； then indicated himself with the same sign。 This last was not true but he had the features and could have been and the idea might help。
The Apache with the red headband turned and pointed。 〃Embetdos；〃 he said。
〃Si；〃 Jordan replied and when the Apaches drew aside； they went on； walking slowly。 Neither of them spoke； neither made a sound until they were hidden in an arroyo。 Then he swung quickly to the saddle and with Maria Cristina behind him rode rapidly until several miles were behind them。
Hours later； his feet aching and his body utterly exhausted； he was still moving。 Yet now the terrain had changed。 They had entered a weird jungle of Spanish dagger； cholla and Joshua； all broken by the remains of an ancient lava flow。 The spaces between the cacti and the fallen black chunks of kva were crowded with brittle bush。
For what must have been six or seven miles they inched their way through this barrier； at times at a loss as to how to go forward； then； mounting a hill amid a thick forest of cholla； they suddenly looked into a ravine that was startlingly and incredibly lovely。
Below them was water。 Not a little water but a large clear pool surrounded by jutting kva。 Shading the pool were sycamore； ash； willow and buckthorn。 And down near the edge of the pool were several small open places where they could see the remains of old fires。
Dismounting； Jordan led the way down the steep path to the water's edge。 Following along the shore under an overhang of lava they came to a small clearing among the trees； pletely shaded and masked from view by a curtain of willows。 Here they stopped。 With almost the last of his strength Jordan stripped the saddle from the red horse and put him on a picket rope。
Then without a word he stretched out and went immediately to sleep； a sleep through which horses raced and guns