lla.theburninghills-第24部分

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en　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　absurd　to　believe　they　would　not　be　aware　of　all　that　had　happened。
　Moreover；　the　Apaches　who　escaped　from　the　kidnapping　of　Maria　Cristina　must　by　now　be　seeking　them　out。　Yet　wherever　he　looked；　the　desert　was　empty。
　Returning　to　the　overhang；　he　found　Maria　Cristina　sitting　by　the　rocks　with　a　rifle　at　hand。　Their　eyes　met　and　no　words　were　needed。　Both　had　grown　up　in　Indian　country；　they　understood　the　gravity　of　their　situation。
　They　were　two　people　with　a　wounded　man　on　their　hands　and　no　telling　when　help　would　reach　them。　The　rain　had　wiped　out　their　trail；　yet　the　Apaches　well　knew　where　they　would　be　going。　It　was　only　a　matter　of　time　until　they　were　discovered。
　They　now　had　four　horses　picketed　and　Jordan　considered　rigging　a　litter　between　two　of　them；　yet　these　horses　were　unused　to　any　such　contrivance　and　would　be　frightened　by　it。　They　were；　at　best；　just　broken　to　the　saddle。
　Slowly　the　hours　dragged　by　and　there　was　nothing。　The　danger　grew　greater　by　the　minute　and　Jordan　was　restless　and　irritable。
　Ben　Hindeman　began　to　mutter　and　plain。　His　fever　mounted　and　he　became　delirious。　Maria　Cristina　sat　with　him；　keeping　damp　cloths　on　his　head。　Several　times　she　mixed　concoctions　used　by　the　Indians　for　fever　and　they　helped；　but　Hindeman　had　lost　blood　from　his　wounds　and　his　condition　was　far　from　good。
　Raiding　parties　from　the　Sierra　Madre　used　this　route　and　the　Chiricahuas　had　their　stronghold　in　the　mountains　just　north　of　the　border。
　By　noon　of　the　second　day　Jordan　knew　something　must　be　done。　He　had　been　leaning　on　the　rocks　staring　into　the　desert's　heat　waves　when　he　made　his　decision。　With　some　poles　and　two　ponchos　he　rigged　a　litter　between　two　horses。　With　Maria　Cristina's　help；　Hindeman　was　loaded　into　the　litter　and；　holding　the　horses　to　a　walk；　they　made　their　start。
　It　was　slow　going　。。。　yet　by　dusk　they　had　covered　fifteen　miles　and　camped　in　a　cluster　of　rocks　near　an　intermittent　stream。
　Ben　Hindeman's　face　was　flushed　and　he　looked　bad。　Jordan　stared　down　at　the　wounded　man；　considering　the　irony　of　the　situation。　Only　hours　ago　this　man　had　been　hunting　him　to　kill　and　now　he；　Jordan；　was　trying　to　save　the　man　from　death　by　bullets　he　had　himself　fired！　And　risking　his　own　life　to　do　it。
　Rifle　in　hand；　Trace　Jordan　walked　out　from　camp。　The　illness　from　his　own　wounds　had　cut　down　his　weight。　He　was　lean　and　raw…boned；　even　tougher…looking　than　usual　and　his　clothing　was　battered　and　worn　from　days　and　nights　of　travel。
　Yet　the　years　of　wilderness　living　had　conditioned　him　to　a　hard　life　and　。。。　he　had　gone　only　a　few　yards　when　he　saw　the　tracks。　The　tracks　of　a　man　walking。
　A　wounded　man　。。。　a　white　man。
　The　man　had　staggered　as　he　walked。　Once　he　had　gone　to　his　knees。　Absorbed　in　the　trail；　Trace　Jordan　followed　it　along　for　a　half…mile。　Twice　the　man　had　fallen　in　that　distance。　At　the　second　place　there　was　blood　on　the　desert。
　Jordan　went　up　to　some　rocks　and　from　the　slight　vantage　point　they　gave　him；　began　a　minute　examination　of　the　terrain。　Suddenly；　some　distance　north；　he　sa