Fifteen Western Tales, March 1954 — page 74: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

74 FIFTEEN WESTERN TALES off his face as Clifton swept the squad with hard eyes. “Are you coming, Marion?” he asked over his shoulder, “Please be reasonable. Stuart.” “We march!” CHAPTER TWO The Noose Tightens ARION LOOKED at Dane but he had nothing to say. Hank got up and climbed like a goat up to a place where he could see all around the wells. Marion swung up on her mare. Clifton thrust_a hand up and led the way from the wells. Dane looked at Marion and then turned away. “Clifton!” Hank’s hoarse voice sounded from high up. “Don’t you think you'd bet- - ter change your mind?” Clifton did not answer. He reached the entrance. Suddenly he drew rein and sat there, staring to the southwest. A thin thread of smoke hung against the sky like a warning finger. To the west another thread of smoke arose. Dane scrambled up the rocks and stood beside Hank. Slow- ly he circled the surrounding landscape with his eyes. Smoke drifted up from the north- east, to drift away in the dry wind. He whistled. Hank nodded. “That bright boy ain’t goin’ nowheres unless he’s crazy, and I ain’t so sure he isn’t.” ; ; A cold finger seemed to trace the length of Dane’s spine. He had fought against many Indians—Mohaves, Apaches and Navajos—and still he never could eliminate that cold feeling at the sight of their smoke signals. War signals. Silent mesSages across a wild land which was hostile enough in itself without painted death in the form of raiding Mohaves to make it worse. Below them in the passageway the troop- ers turned their mounts and rode back into the rock enclosure. — Se “Dismount !’’ commanded Clifton. “Un- saddle and picket! Dennehy! Four man guard to be changed every two hours!” Hank shifted his cud and winked at _ Dane. “My, my, the fire eater has been wet down a little. How many times did you wallop him, amigo?” In the darkness before the rise of the ‘moon there was an uneasy tension about Spanish Wells. Men spoke in whispers and any of them who made an unnecessarily loud noise was softly cursed by the others. The men who stood guard, one of them at the entrance passage and the other three perched up on the rock rim surrounding the wells, strained their eyes in the dark- ness, imagining every bushy-headed clump of brush as a painted Mohave intent on reaching the wells without setting an alarm. A canvas fly was set up for Marion in a hollow in the rock wall. As the moon swung slowly up -the ten- sion seemed to ease. Trooper Shorrs, who had always been somewhat of a trouble- maker in C Troop, called to Hank Mooney. “You ain’t earning your keep, Mooney! Where are the Mohaves?” Hank rested on one elbow while lying on his blankets, “You mulehead! A Mohave kid could walk up behind you and steal your britches. By God, I don’t think even the draft would let you know what had happened.” Shorrs spat as the other troopers laughed. “Hell! I ain’t never seen a Mohave; or any other Indian, that could do that.” Hank rubbed his jaw. — “Then where the hell are your britches ?” Even Dane had to grin as Shorrs looked quickly down at his legs. The grin faded as Stuart Clifton came up to the small fire. “Put that out!” he said. “And watch. your language! There’s a lady here!” He looked at Hank as Trooper Kerr threw sand on the fire. “You know better than to let a fire be lit. The Mohaves could see that “comic .OOKS EO 7 : “ =~ - = ae t ne he . + dy ] i oe a > | te I ee ewe Bide a ee nee SS y= “ se’ wt me! re of wh Fm, 5, a