black and vile Apache trade tobacco he was smelling now. He went on, and in the doorway, before he looked, he said gloomily, “Hello, Rush, you damn carrion crow.”
Rush Doll was seated back-tilted on the chair at the foot of Burke’s bed, his feet on Burke’s blankets. He grinned sparsely around the long cigarette pasted in the corner of his mouth. He was a man of fifty, graying and dried by decades of Arizona summers. He wore a castoff army shirt, denim pants, and Apache moccasins, and was, unqualifiedly, the best packmaster in the West, and Burke’s friend.
He gibed now by way of greeting, “Footed it back, I hear.”
“On horsemeat,” Burke said wryly. He opened a drawer of the chest in the corner and took out some clothes.
Rush said presently, “What’s a general court martial?” Burke turned to look at him.
“So it’s out, is it?”
“You wouldn’t go on patrol tomorrow, they say.”
Burke nodded and savagely slammed the drawer shut. He said morosely, “The need for Lieutenant Hanna, and only Lieutenant Hanna, on patrol is what gravels me.” He glanced obliquely at Rush. “Remember that report on Corinne you helped me with?”
Rush shook his head. “No. That’s not the reason.”
Something in Rush’s tone held Burke motionless.
“Things have been happening since you left,” Rush went on in a murmur. “He wants you out of the way.”
“Things like what?”
“Your report accused Corinne of long-countin’ the ’Paches so he could put their rations in his pocket, didn’t it? Well, he’s quit that. For the past month he’s been busy tradin’ the fat government-issue beef for all the scrub-cull beef anyone brings him. He trades at the rate of two fat beef for three culls.”
Burke sat down slowly on his bed. “To issue to the Indians? That won’t do him any good. The beef is issued to the Apaches by weight, not by count.”
“What if he’s rigged the agency scales to weigh out every beef at six hundred pounds or over, even if it really weighs three hundred?”
Burke only stared at him and Rush went on, “Say he gets three hundred fat beef for issue. He trades two hundred of ’em off for three hundred culls. He issues the three hundred culls weighed on his rigged scale, then sells the hundred fat ones left and pockets the money.”
Burke stared down at his bare and bruised feet. Ervien’s order made sense now. There was only one man in either post or agency who cared enough about the Indians’ welfare to keep their agent honest, and that man was himself. And his reason was simple enough; he was tired of seeing Apaches starved into breaking out, and then having to fight or capture them. Now Ervien, protecting his prospective father-in-law, wanted him out of the way, and he had him out of the way.
As Burke reached for his socks, a thought came to him. He asked Rush, “What about Ponce’s bunch I sent back? Have they been fed well and issued rations?”
“They ain’t had a square meal since they hit the reservation,” Rush said.
Broodingly, Burke dressed, silent now. He had almost forgotten Rush when Rush said searchingly, “You goin’ to put that in your new report?”
Burke said unsmilingly, “You think Ponce would talk with me tonight?”
“How?” Rush asked. “You can’t leave the post, and he ain’t allowed to come on it after dark.”
Burke thought a moment and said, “You bring him over to the blacksmith shop after dark. That’s post limits. We can talk there and neither of us will be disobeying orders.” He looked levelly at Rush. “I promised Ponce we’d treat him right if he came back. If we don’t, he’ll bust out and gut this country. And,” he added slowly, “I wouldn’t blame him.”
Rush agreed and left. Burke hurriedly dressed. As he was struggling into his blouse, Lieutenants Umberhine and Cavanaugh poked their heads in to say hello. They made no reference to his arrest. Finished dressing, Burke picked up his garrison cap and pistol belt; then, remembering, he hung the pistol on the wall. He was under arrest, so he could not carry arms.
* * * *
He stepped outside and cut across the parade ground, heading for the third square brick house in the row of married officers’ homes opposite. As he approached Abe Byas’s house, he wondered whether he should tell Abe of Rush’s revelation. He decided against it; Abe was Ervien’s adjutant, honor bound to be loyal to him, and there was no use troubling Abe until he had proof.
Byas, bareheaded, was waiting on his walk when Burke crossed the drive.
“Look,” Abe said mildly in greeting. “I’m adjutant of this post. You want to appear before me tomorrow morning for disciplinary action?”
Burke hauled up. “What for?”
Abe pointed to the parade ground. “It’s seeded,” he said carefully, distinctly. “Stay off it, will you?”
Burke grinned. “I forgot.”
As they went up the walk, Abe looked reprovingly at him. “Well, you did it up brown, didn’t you?”
“Didn’t I?” Burke murmured.
“You’ll learn,” Abe said. “Just keep chewing his ears until you’re in real trouble.”
Burke didn’t reply, and Abe mounted the steps. His house was a square brick affair with a small porch and an iron-railed widow’s walk surmounting its sloping roof. Abe went in first and waved his hand toward the parlor. “Sit down. I’ll get Calla.”
He went on through the hall toward the back rooms.
Burke looked around the pleasant parlor, whose contents had been freighted half a thousand miles. Through the open window he caught the brassy, saucy sound of mess call being sounded, and he wondered gloomily what he was going to say to Calla.
Sighing, he turned from the window just in time to see Calla, apron over her dress, come into the room. She didn’t, pause, didn’t speak, only came into his arms and kissed him. After she had kissed him twice more, she hugged him and said into his ear in a low, shaky voice, “I’ve got to get used to missing you, Burke.”
Burke smiled faintly and held her from him, looking hungrily at her. The grave and mischievous amber eyes told him nothing except that she was glad to see him. Her wide mouth, soft and smiling, was happy enough. She had been fussing with her thick golden hair: it was done differently atop her head, and he thought it beautiful, just as, without knowing why, he thought her gray dress, through the sleeves of which he could feel the rounded softness of her arms, delightful. He said, “If that’s what they call a soldier’s welcome I’m for it.”
He held her to him a moment, then asked, “Did Abe tell you, Calla?”
She drew back and looked gravely at him. “About your arrest? Yes, I’d have hated you forever if you’d taken your troop out as Ervien ordered.” She frowned quizzically. “Did you really think I’d mind?”
“Well,”
