lla.theburninghills-第20部分

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m　light　and　he　dared　not　strike　a　match；　yet　he　circled　until　he　caught　again　the　smell　of　dust　and　then　started　after　them。
　At　any　moment　they　might　try　an　ambush；　yet　he　had　doubts　of　that　for　they　were　a　small　party；　three　or　four　at　most。　Twice；　when　well　started；　he　got　down　to　examine　the　ground。　Here　the　earth　was　less　torn　and　he　could　find　the　hoofprints。　He　pushed　on　until　the　moon　was　gone　and　the　risk　of　losing　the　trail　was　too　great。
　Dismounting；　he　picketed　the　horse　and　settled　down　to　wait。　He　rolled　an　endless　chain　of　cigarettes　and　smoked　until　only　half　a　sack　of　tobacco　remained　of　his　store。　The　last　hour　before　dawn　was　endless；　yet　he　waited　and　when　the　day　became　gray　and　the　air　was　cold　with　morning　he　could　see　the　tracks。　Four　horses；　all　unshod。　One　carried　double。
　Big　Red　was　rested　and　eager。　He　lunged　into　the　trail　with　that　swift　space…eating　stride　that　was　only　his。　And　the　miles　fell　behind　with　the　trail's　dust　and　the　sun　came　up；　hot　and　red。　The　desert　turned　to　flame　and　sweat　streaked　the　dust　on　Big　Red's　flanks　and　soaked　Jordan's　shirt。　Twice　he　dismounted　and　walked；　leading　the　horse　to　give　him　rest
　The　trail　led　on　and　he　forgot　in　the　heat　of　the　day's　red　sun　the　men　who　might　be　following　him　and　thought　only　of　the　men　ahead　and　of　the　girl　they　had。
　And　the　tracks　grew　fresher。　He　was　gaining。　The　gain　was　slight　but　nevertheless　he　gained。
　It　was　hot。。。　no　air　stirred。　He　rode　through　a　land　that　looked　like　Hell　with　the　fires　out；　a　land　of　great　clinkers；　burned　out；　destroyed　。。。　a　land　of　great　serrated　rocky　spines；　of　tall　spires　and　broken　battlements；　a　land　of　deep　canyons　and　washes　where　rain　sometimes　created　streams；　white　now；　and　dead。　Forests　of　yucca　and　armies　of　prickly　pear；　occasional　elephant　trees　and　clustered　columns　of　the　organ…pipe　cactus。
　It　was　a　land　unpeopled　and　still　。。。　a　gila　monster　moved　upon　a　rock；　a　chaparral　cock　darted　ahead　of　him。　Yet　the　desert　riders　pushed　on　into　the　wasteland　where　the　sun　was　a　ball　of　fire　in　a　sky　of　molten　flame　above　a　red　and　scarred　land　where　the　only　sound　was　the　muffled　beat　of　his　own　horse's　hoofs；　the　creak　of　his　own　saddle…leather。
　Down　there　ahead　of　him；　somewhere　in　the　desert；　must　be　a　rancheria。
　He　did　not　stop　for　food。　He　ate　from　the　sack　and　pushed　on。　The　big　red　horse　labored　now　but　seemed　to　understand　his　rider's　urgency。　And　he　was　stronger　than　the　small　grass…fed　Apaches'　ponies　and　he　was　gaining。
　Once　he　glanced　back。　And　felt　his　throat　tighten　when　he　did。　Behind　him　was　a　plume　of　dust
　They　had　wasted　no　time　in　picking　up　his　trail　once　he　began　moving。　And　there　was　no　time　for　playing　hare　to　their　hounds　now；　no　time　for　subterfuge。　Now　he　must　ride；　ride；　ride！
　Then；　far　ahead；　he　saw　dust。　A　wisp　of　dust；　soon　vanished。　He　broke　into　the　open　and　saw　them　ahead　of　him。　Three　horses；　hard…running。　Three。。。？
　Only　just　in　time；　he　swung　his　horse。　The　realization　that　only　three　riders　rode　ahead　caused　its　instant　reaction。　He　swung　the　horse　and　a　bullet　whipped　by　his　skull；　missing　by　inches　only。　And　then　he　saw　the　Apache　streaking　for　his　horse。　With　one　hand　he　swung　his　Winchester　and　fired　a　shot。
　The　bullet　spat　dust　just　ahead　of　the　fleeing　man　and；　slamming　Big　Bed　with　the　spurs；　Jordan　went　after　him；　working　the　lever　on　the　Winchester　as　he　rode。
　The　Apache　despaired　of　reaching　his　horse　and　turning；　fired。　He　shot　too　quick　and　missed　and　then　the　big　red　horse　slammed　into　him；　hitting　him　with　a　shoulder　and　knocking　the　Indian　rolling。
　Without　slowing；　Jordan　went　on；　only　taking　time　to　start　the　Apache's　pony　running。
　The　Apaches　ahead　spread　out；　taking　different　directions。　They　must　know　of　the　men　behind　him　or　they　would　have　stopped　to　fight；　but　now　they　ran。　One　man　carried　double　and　Jordan　went　after　him。　Yet　as　he　rode；　he　wondered　。。。　would　they　kill　her　when　he　reached　them？
　Suddenly　Maria　Cristina　was　fighting　and　then　with　the　pony　at　a　dead　run　she　twisted　free　and　flung　herself　from　the　saddle。　She　hit　the　sand；　bounding　like　a　sack　of　old　clothes；　then　rolling　over。
　The　Apache　veered　to　pursue　her　and　Jordan　came　between　them。　The　Apache　swung　his　rifle　but　Jordan　parried　the　blow　and　struck　up　with　the　butt。　He　knocked　the　rifle　from　the　Indian's　hands　and　then　they　were　off　their　horses　and　fighting　furiously。
　The　Apache's　hand　closed　over　his　knife　hilt　first　as　Jordan　hit　him　with　a　long　right。　The　blow　knocked　him　down　and　Jordan　sprang　for　him　with　both　boots。　The　Indian　rolled　over　and　came　up　fast　and　they　closed；　struggling　fiercely。　Then　Jordan　broke　a　hand　free　and　struck　upward　with　his　fist　The　blow　knocked　the　Indian　back　and　Jordan　kicked　him　in　the　knee　with　his　boot　heel。
　The　Apache　was　blocky；　powerfully　muscled　and　tough。　He　went　down　but　rolled　over　and　palmed　his　knife　for　a　throw　。。。　and　Trace　Jordan　shot　him　through　the　body。
　The　Apache　fell；　tried　to　get　up；　then　sprawled　out。　He　lay　still　then；　a　slim　brown　body　in　the　hot　white　sun；　and　the　dust　of　the　fighting　sifted　over。
　Trace　Jordan　mopped　the　sweat　from　his　brow。　Of　the　other　Indians　there　was　no　sign。　He　turned　slowly　and　walked　toward　Maria　Cristina。
　She　was　on　her　feet；　facing　him。　Her　face　was　dusty　and　her　hair　blew　in　the　wind。　It　blew　across　her　cheek。　Her　hands　were　bound　together　and　her　blouse　was　torn　but　she　stood；　feet　apart；　waiting　for　him。
　He　cut　free　her　hands。　For　an　instant　they　stood　together；　their　eyes　holding。　He　started　to　take　her　in　his　arms　but　she　stepped　back　quickly；　shrinking；　her　eyes　wide　like　those　of　a　frightened　animal　〃No　。　。　。　No　。　。　。〃
　He　let　his　hands　fall。　Turning；　he　went　to　where　his　horse　waited　and　gathered　up　the　reins。　Then　he　rounded　up　an　Apache　pony　and　led　it　to　her。　Without　ment　she　mounted　and　as　she　got　into　the　Indian's　blanket　saddle　he　noticed　she　had　taken　the　Indian's　Winchester　and　ammunition。　The　cartridge　belt　was　slung　across　her　shoulder。
　Behind　them　the　dust　was　closer。　He　even　believed　he　could　distinguish　figures　through　the　dust。
　They　started；　but　not　too　fast　The　horses　behind　them　had　e　far　and　would　be　in　no　shape　for　a　sprint。　And　his　own　horse　needed　rest。
　They　were　riding　north　now　and　his　thoughts　were　going　on　ahead。　This　was　still　Mexico　but　the　Arizona　border　was　north　of　them　and　they　would　reach　the　border　sixty　or　seventy　miles　west　of　the　Sutton…Bayless　holdings。　If　they　could　reach　a　town；　Just　any　town　where　there　was　a　sheriff。　。。。
　But　there　was　no　town。　Not　close　enough　to　help。　Tubac　was　still　farther　west；　Tucson　and　Tombstone　too　far　north。　Their　best　chance　was　the　John　Slaughter　ranch　at　San　Bernardino　Springs。　And　there　was　a　chance　they　could　reach　it　in　time。　They　might　then　claim　sanctuary　from　John　Slaughter　and　he　was　no　man　with　whom　to　trifle；　not　even　the　Sutton　outfit。
　He　led　the　way　into　an　arroyo；　then　doubled　back　along　the　canyon　to　another；　then　out　of　it　and　into　a　thick　forest　of　yucca　and　nopal。　He　used　every　trick　now；　riding　slower；　taking　their　time；　their　horses　a　dozen　yards　apart　to　raise　less　dust　They　used　the　brush　for　cover；　moving　together；　then　apart。
　Behind　them　the　riders　had　separated；　they　had　spread　out　to　cover　more　ground。　And　they　were　gaining。
　Suddenly　he　had　an　idea。　It　came　to　him　out　of　nowhere；　so　foolish；　so　risky；　so　dangerous　that　for　a　moment　he　doubted　his　sanity。　It　was　the　fact　that　they　were　riding　spread　out　that　gave　them　a　chance。
　He　glanced　right　and　left；　seeing　some　fairly　dense　brush。　Lifting　a　hand　for　a　halt　during　the　few　minutes　they　were　out　of　sight；　he　slid　quicldy　to　the　ground　and　threw　his　horse。　By　the　time　Maria　Cristina　had　e　up；　he　had　blindfolded　his　horse　and；　seeing　what　he　had　done；　she　slid　to　the　ground　and　did　likewise。　Hurriedly　then　they　gathered　brush　to　cover　both　horses。　Then　they　lay　down；　under　the　edge　of　the　brush　themselves。　Big　Red　was　trembling　but　at　the　calming　voices　of　Jordan　and　Maria　Cristina　both　horses　quieted；　frightened　by　this　sudden　darkness　in　which　they　found　themselves。
　It　was　an　old　trick。　Many　a　time　he　had　seen　horses　led　across　rickety　bridges　in