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Mort grabbed wildly。 His hand caught his gun butt and the edge of his slicker。 In any event； he would not have made it in time。 A bullet smashed him through the body and as he slid from the saddle and his horse sprang from under him； a second bullet drilled a neat blue hole in his skull。
And then for a brief moment the lightning of the guns replaced the lightning of the storm and the stillness following the thunder was filled by the hard sharp reports of the guns。
In the split second after Mort's voice； Jordan thought Hindeman gave a sort of groan and Jordan knew a sort of sympathy for a man saddled with such panions。
A moment…and it was over； a moment of brutal smashing gunfire。 Mort； knocked from his horse； hit the ground in a pool of water。 The man behind him； knocked off balance； was momentarily out of action。
Trace Jordan had fired at Mort Bayless and then threw himself aside and took a quick shot at Ben Hindeman； knowing he was the toughest and most dangerous man。 Hindeman took the bullet and was knocked lopsided in the saddle； his gun going off into the ground。
From the ground near him Jordan heard the wicked blast of the Winchester 73。 He felt a bullet from somewhere tear at his shoulder and steadied himself for another shot at Hindeman。 The man knocked off balance by Bayless' fall was lying still。 Jordan fired again and then threw himself away from the girl to draw fire from her。 She shot from the ground again and then a bullet from Hindeman spat rock into his face and he shot the big man a second time。
A man on a lunging horse swung the horse around and lifted his gun to chop a shot。 Jordan and Maria Cristina fired at the same instant and the man threw up his hands。
The horse broke into a plunging run and the rider stayed with him for six or seven jumps； then spilled off； arms and legs thrown wide to hit with a splash of water like a doll thrown carelessly。 The man lay sprawled and wet and dead。
So quickly it happened； so quickly it was over。 A moment of madness laced by gunfire； a moment of thundering guns and spitting lead； and then only the quiet and the rain falling。
Slowly he straightened up。 He held both guns； never conscious that he had drawn the second。 Shoving one into his holster； he began to reload。 One gun was empty； the other held but two shells。 And he had no memory of firing more than three； perhaps four times。
Maria Cristina got up from the rock where she had knelt； half…concealed by boulders and brush。
〃You are hurt？〃 she asked。
〃A scratch。〃
He stood there a minute or two； looking out into the rain。 Jacob Lantz was still around and； although the tracker had left before the shooting started； he might declare himself in at long range。 And he had the reputation of being good with a rifle。
Trace Jordan walked out into the rain。 Lantz was nowhere in sight
Mort Bayless stared up into the sodden clouds； his eyes wide to the sky； unheeding the pounding rain。 Blood stained the pool in which he lay。 His shirt was plastered to his thin body； all the evil in him a thing gone now； emptied out of him with his life。
Ben Hindeman was lying there too but he was not dead。
He had been hit three times； once by the rifle。 He made a feeble futile grasp toward his fallen gun and then lay quiet； looking up at Jordan。
〃Is it bad？〃
Trace looked at him。 One bullet through his left side but low down。 Another through his chest but high enough to have missed the lung。 The third through his thigh。
〃You're hit；〃 Jordan said。 〃Can be bad。〃
〃I got a wife；〃 Hindeman said。 〃A good woman。 A man should think of those things。〃
He dosed his eyes momentarily； then opened them。 〃They never should have stolen those horses；〃 he said。 〃The damn fools。〃
Another man lay beyond Hindeman； sprawled out； one knee buckled under him。 The fourth man； the one knocked down by Bayless' horse； still lay where he had dropped。 There was no blood on him。
Trace Jordan bolstered his gun and stooped to pick up Ben Hindeman。 As he stooped he heard the click of a drawn…back hammer and turned quickly。
Jacob Lantz stood there with empty hands held wide from his body。 Maria Cristina had covered him with a Winchester。
〃Help you with that？〃 Lantz asked。 〃He's a heavy man。〃
Together they carried him under the overhang and after one careful searching look at Lantz； Maria Cristina put her rifle down。 〃Make a fire；〃 she told him。
Then she turned to Jordan。 〃You first；〃 she said。
〃He's hard hit；〃 Trace said。 〃I can wait。〃
Maria Cristina shrugged。 〃Suppose he dies？ He would have killed you。〃
〃Him first；〃 Jordan told her flatly。 〃Get busy。〃
She looked at him； their eyes holding on each other。 Then she knelt beside Hindeman。 〃You think you strong；〃 she said； glancing up。 〃I think you big fool。〃
Hindeman chuckled； then gasped at the pain。 But he looked up at Jordan。 〃I think you've got you a woman； Friend。〃
He looked past Trace Jordan at Lantz。 〃What happened to you？〃 he asked hoarsely。
Lantz bared his broken teeth in a grin。 〃I told you 。。。 I'd trail him。 I wouldn't fight him。 When I seen what Mort was fixin' to do； I taken out。〃
Jordan glanced out to where the other men lay。 The man who had been knocked down by Bayless was gone。 He had evidently lain quiet until the shooting was over and at the first chance； ducked out。 Some were like that。 Sometimes the ones who swaggered die first。 Like Ike Clanton at the O。K。 Corral fight
Maria Cristina bathed the wounds in a decoction made of a desert plant； than bandaged them as best she could。 From the plant named sangre de Cristo she had taken the sap； which coagulates quickly； to stop the blood from the wounds。
By the time the wounds were cared for and Lantz had buried the dead men； it was midday。 He came back inside。 〃Rain's breakin'〃 he said。 〃Better get set for trouble。〃
〃Trouble？〃
〃Yeah；〃 Lantz took his time。 〃There's one got away； an' more in'。 If that one's lucky； he'll fetch up with those who been in' behind us。 You can just bet they'll e huntin' you。〃
Ben Hindeman spoke from his pallet。 〃The fight's over； Jake。 You tell 'em I said so。 We're through。〃
〃Buck might listen。 Wes Parker won't。 Some of the others might not； either。〃
〃Then you light out an' stop 'em；〃 Hindeman said harshly。 He lifted himself to an elbow。 〃Stop 'em an' get a buckboard down here for me。 If you can't stop 'em； ride like hell for John Slaughter's outfit。〃
The clouds broke and the rain drifted away。 The sun returned and the pools began to disappear。 Only the greener vegetation and the dampness around the rocks remained to remind them of the storm。
Trace Jordan took his rifle and led the horses to a patch of grass where they could be picketed in plain sight of the shelter。 He was far less worried by the Sutton…Bayless riders than by the Apaches。 For several days now both the pursuers and the pursued had been leaving tracks all over this corner of Sonora； an area that was Apache country。
Any hunter from one of the rancherias might have e upon those tracks； or any squaw out gathering herbs or firewood could have seen them。 In a country where a white man could scarcely turn over in bed without an Apache knowing it； it was absur