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hopeful.
    In the next moment, however, his hopes were extinguished. Faintly, far off above the sound of the canelo’s pounding hoofs, he heard the sound of a shot. It seemed in the same instant that he heard the whistle of the bullet. He saw patches of color among the rocks, the glitter of metal in the sun. The worst that could happen had happened. There were Indians afoot off to his right front. Some of them he could see were vaulting onto their ponies; others were standing and firing at him.
    He swerved left, angling across the floor of the canyon. The two following horses, which, being unladen, had kept up well, came around well enough. The yelling Indians behind changed course. He dropped the lead lines and let the two animals behind go free and, as he raced toward the cover of the rocks on the other side of the canyon, he saw that he had succeeded in delaying the men directly behind him for a moment as they pulled up to catchthe bay and the gray. He hoped that there would be disagreement over the ownership of the animals to delay the Indians for a while.
    Within a matter of moments, the canelo was clattering among the giant boulders and McAllister was swinging down from the saddle. He led the animal deep into the rocks and hitched the line to a rock. He then opened a saddle-pouch and filled his pockets with rounds for the Henry which he heaved from the boot. That done, he climbed a high boulder and gained a vantage point of the canyon.
    He had a good view and saw at once what the Apaches were up to. Riding across the open space, they were heading for the rocks that surrounded him. He knew that as soon as they were among them, they would dismount and hunt him on foot. And nobody was faster in the world on foot than an Apache. He didn’t like the look of things at all. He flung himself down and lined up on the nearest rider. He reckoned they thought they were out of rifle range, but he aimed to give them a surprise. This nearest man had a red rag around his head like a sweat-band; his shirt was of blue marked with polka dots; seatless army pants were tucked into knee-high Apache moccasins. He was riding a chunky little dun horse and was preparing to dismount.
    McAllister fired, missed the man and brought the pony down. Even as horse and man pitched to the ground, the big man levered a fresh round into the breech and made good his mistake. As the warrior leapt to his feet, as astonished no doubt as he was shaken, McAllister hit him in the leg and put him down again. He could see from the attitudes of the rest of them that he had made his impression. They knew now they weren’t jumping a pilgrim. He didn’t waste any time, but levered again and lined up with a man who was riding his bay pony clean into the rocks off to his right. This time, he hit the man, knocking him clean out of his crude saddle. This time, they all learned their lesson and disappeared from view. And McAllister thought it time he changed his position.
    He slid down the boulder, ran back through the rocks until he was almost to the canyon wall. On the way, he took the canteen from his saddle and slung it from a shoulder. He didn’t know how long he was going to be forted up there and he didn’t want to die of thirst. He now searched for a spot from which he could cover his horse, for he had no intention of being left afoot if he could help it.
    Climbing a little to gain some advantage, he found what lookedlike a shallow cave above a rock-strewn ledge. This gave him a good view and would protect him from above and two sides. It seemed as ideal as anything could be in these circumstances.
    They left him alone for about thirty minutes, no doubt while they talked over the situation.
    McAllister lay wondering why they were so intent upon attacking him. Ordinarily, they would have made a try for his horses and he would have refrained from hitting them with his rifle. But they had shown they were interested in more than his horses. They