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  “Well, that name don’t ring no bells, neither. And you’d best be careful askin’ questions. There ain’t no quicker way to get killed in that place.”

  “I’ll bear that in mind,” Luke promised.

  Since the horse was carrying double—even though Badger didn’t weigh much—they stopped fairly often to let the animal rest. Around the middle of the morning, they came to a spring surrounded by towering canyon walls. The spring formed a small pool before disappearing underground again. Luke gave Badger a hand slipping down from the horse’s back.

  “Better smell that water first before drinking it,” Luke advised.

  Badger snorted. “I told you, I been prospectin’ in these hills for years. I know about makin’ sure water’s fit to drink ’fore I start guzzlin’ it down.”

  He dropped to his knees beside the pool, cupped his hand, and brought water to his mouth. After a quick sniff, he drank and nodded in satisfaction. “Tastes good. Cool and clear. Won’t find any better in these parts.”

  Luke swung down from the saddle and said, “I’m glad to hear that. I’ll fill both canteens.” He unwrapped the strap of one canteen from the saddle, turned toward the pool, and felt a heavy impact against the canteen. He took a quick step back to brace himself and looked down at the canteen in his hand.

  And saw the arrow sticking out from it where the arrowhead had lodged.

  If Luke had been a second slower turning around, that arrow would be buried in his back.

  CHAPTER 14

  Luke dropped the canteen and palmed out one of the Remingtons as he called, “Badger, look out!”

  Badger dropped flat just as an arrow cut through the space where he’d been a heartbeat earlier. The shaft splashed into the pool.

  Luke spotted movement on the canyon wall to his left, twisted in that direction, and saw a bronzed figure in high-topped moccasins, breechcloth, and blue shirt holding a bow pulled back, aiming an arrow at him. Luke fired an instant before the Apache loosed the arrow.

  The bullet slammed into the man and slewed him around enough to make the arrow sail off harmlessly down the canyon. The Apache stumbled, lost his balance, and pitched forward headfirst off the rim. He fell the thirty feet to the canyon floor and landed in a sprawled heap signifying death.

  He hadn’t been alone. Another warrior let out a shrill cry as he stood up on the rimrock and loosed an arrow at Luke. The flint head barely missed Luke’s right ear. The shaft struck his shoulder and ricocheted off without doing any damage. Luke fired a second shot, but the Apache had already ducked back down.

  More war cries echoed in the canyon. Luke couldn’t tell how many attackers there were, maybe the whole dozen Badger claimed to have gotten away from. They were on both sides of the canyon, Luke realized as more arrows whipped around him. He pulled the other Remington and fired left and right as he hurried toward the horse.

  “Come on!” he called to Badger. “Let’s hunt some cover!”

  Badger had scrambled up and reached the horse. He yanked Luke’s Winchester from its scabbard and swung it to his shoulder. The old-timer began firing, tracking the rifle’s barrel along one side of the canyon and peppering the rimrock with .44-40 slugs. Luke didn’t think Badger hit any of the Apaches, but the volley made them keep their heads down for a few seconds, anyway, and that respite was more than welcome.

  Luke made it into the saddle with a lithe bound, then holstered one of the revolvers and held out his hand as he shouted to Badger, “Come on!”

  The old prospector reached up and clasped wrists with him. It was a good thing Badger didn’t weigh much. Luke hauled him behind the saddle as he kicked the horse into a run.

  “Hang on!”

  At least a few of the Indians were armed with rifles, as Badger had indicated earlier. Luke heard shots popping, saw geysers of dirt as the bullets plowed into the ground around them. An arrow flew past his eyes, only inches away.

  “You hit?” he called to Badger.

  “Not yet,” the old man replied, “but some o’ them shots are comin’ too damn close!”

  Luke couldn’t argue with that. He kept the horse moving fast and pounded away from the spring. They had only one canteen now, since he had dropped the other one, but that one had a hole in it anyway from the arrow, he reminded himself. And it had probably saved his life, so he supposed that was a good trade . . . as long as he didn’t wind up dying of thirst.

  The canyon petered out and the trail sloped up in front of them. Luke called on his mount for as much speed as the horse could muster and galloped up the rise as more war cries came from behind them.

  Badger said, “Oh, hell, they’re comin’ after us!”

  Luke looked back and saw that the old-timer was right. Most of the time, an Apache would rather eat a horse than ride one and could run tirelessly all day. Sometimes, though, the stubborn warriors used tough little ponies as mounts. That was the case today as eight Apaches gave chase on horseback.

  At least it wasn’t the whole dozen of them, Luke thought grimly.

  He faced front again and searched for a place where he and Badger could fort up. Spying some boulders ahead of them at the base of another ridge, Luke headed for those rocks.

  They were almost there when a warrior with a bright crimson headband around his raven hair stood up from behind a boulder and aimed a Springfield rifle at them. Luke realized they were racing right into the jaws of a trap.

  Before the Apache could pull the trigger, a shot blasted from the top of the ridge behind the boulders. The warrior jerked forward and dropped his rifle. He sprawled over the top of the boulder that had concealed him and didn’t move.

  More shots slammed through the hot air. Another Apache toppled from his hiding place in the rocks. Two more appeared, turning to fire up at whoever was sniping at them from the ridge. That gave Luke clear shots at them from behind. As he reached the boulders and hauled back on the reins with his left hand, he used the Remington in his right hand to plant a slug in a warrior’s back. The man flung his arms in the air, loosing his grip on the rifle he held. He stumbled a couple of steps and then plowed the dirt with his face.

  The remaining Apache, realizing he was caught between two enemies, screeched in hate and swung around. Luke was closer, so the warrior must have figured he had a better shot at him.

  A bullet from the ridge shattered the Apache’s right shoulder before he could bring his rifle to bear. A split second later, Luke drilled a bullet through the man’s head and dropped him like a puppet with its strings cut. That cleared the clump of boulders of hostiles.

  “Hang on to the horse!” Luke called to Badger as he leaped to the ground. He pouched the iron he held as he added, “Give me that Winchester!”

  Badger slid down from the horse’s back and tossed the rifle to Luke, who caught it deftly. He ran to one of the boulders and knelt behind it. The eight mounted Apaches were still attacking. Arrows rattled among the rocks, and bullets ricocheted from them with ear-piercing whines.

  Luke sprayed rifle rounds among them. One warrior went backward off his pony as if a giant hand had swept him aside. A pony fell in a welter of dust and flailing legs, throwing its rider. Just as the Apache scrambled to his feet, Luke shot him in the chest and put him down again.

  The other six men veered apart, scattering so they wouldn’t be bunched up anymore. They wheeled and headed back the way they had come. Luke sent a couple of rounds after them but didn’t tally any more hits. The next time he squeezed the trigger, the hammer landed on an empty chamber.

  He always had extra cartridges in his pockets. He fished out a handful of them and thumbed them through the Winchester’s loading gate, then cranked the lever and knelt there, waiting to see what the Apaches were going to do.

  Badger said excitedly, “Somebody’s comin’ down that hill behind us!”

  Luke already knew someone had been up there. Their unknown benefactor had ruined the Apaches’ trap and killed several of them. The numbers didn’t quite a
dd up, he thought. The Apache war party had been slightly larger than Badger’s estimate of their numbers.

  Luke looked over his shoulder and saw a figure mounted on a rangy mule coming down the slope toward them. Rocks slid under the mule’s hooves, but the animal was sure-footed and the rider gave him his head. Luke thought he recognized the mule, and by the time they reached the bottom, he definitely recognized the person who’d come to their rescue.

  Aaron McKinney hauled back on the mule’s reins and slid off the animal’s back, clutching the old Henry rifle. The youngster was wide-eyed, and his freckles stood out against the pale skin of his face, which showed the strain he was experiencing. There was a good chance it was the first gun battle the boy had ever been mixed up in . . . and likely, those Apaches were the first men he had killed.

  “Normally, Aaron, I’d want to know what in blazes you’re doing here,” Luke greeted him, “but right now I’ll just say that we’re obliged to you for saving our bacon.”

  “You know this younker?” Badger asked.

  “I do,” Luke said. “Both of you had better stay low. Those Apaches who are left might pull back a ways and try taking some potshots at us.”

  Badger wrapped the reins around a good-sized rock to keep Luke’s horse from bolting. Aaron did the same with his mule’s reins.

  When both animals were crouched in relative safety behind boulders, Luke went on. “Badger, this young man is Aaron McKinney. Aaron, that old pelican is Badger O’Donnell.”

  “What’s he doing here?” Aaron asked. “Is he a bounty hunter, too? He doesn’t look like one.”

  Luke winced as Badger exclaimed, “Bounty hunter! You told me you was an owlhoot!”

  “Actually, I never did. You just assumed that, since I wanted to go to the Black Castle.”

  Aaron said, “What’s the Black Castle? What’s going on here?”

  Luke ignored the questions for the moment. His intent gaze scanned the landscape for any sign of Apaches other than the dead ones who lay scattered among the rocks and on the flats in front of the boulders. The others had ridden out of sight, but he didn’t believe for a second that they’d abandoned the fight and wouldn’t be back. They still outnumbered him and his companions by a two-to-one margin.

  Badger said, “If you’re a bounty hunter and you still figure on goin’ to the Black Castle, you must really want to die.”

  “Blast it, somebody talk to me!” Aaron said.

  It was a good chance to finish reloading the Winchester, Luke decided. While he was doing that, he said, “The Black Castle is a hideout where outlaws can go and be safe, in return for a cut of their loot to the man who runs the place.”

  “You think you might find my father there.”

  “There’s a chance I might, or at least get an idea of where to look for him.”

  “McKinney,” Badger said slowly. “Earlier you was askin’ me about some hombre called Three-fingered Jack McKinney. What relation is he to this boy?”

  “He’s my father,” Aaron said with a bitter edge in his voice. “I want somebody to track him down and bring him to justice. That’s why I put a reward out for him.”

  Badger stared in amazement. “You put a reward on your own pa?”

  “A dollar and forty-two cents,” Luke said, “and a harmonica.”

  “It’s nearly new,” Aaron said. “Plays real good. I saved up for it.” A hangdog look came over his face. “Then I felt really bad about spendin’ the money for it when Ma and me didn’t have hardly anything. I figured maybe it’d help me find somebody willing to track down my pa and see that he gets what’s comin’ to him.”

  Badger shook his head. “Boy, you can’t tell me you believed that would actually work.”

  “You mean that somebody would go after Pa just for a bounty like that? Of course not! I’m not stupid, Mr. O’Donnell. But Pa’s got other rewards on his head. I was just trying to get somebody interested enough to see what it was about, and then maybe they’d go after him for the real reward.” Aaron looked at Luke. “And it worked, didn’t it, Mr. Jensen? You’re here.”

  “I’m here,” Luke admitted with a wry smile. “Although so far, it doesn’t seem to be working out too well. What I want to know now is why you’re here, Aaron.”

  “You best save that,” Badger said as he peered over the boulder in front of him. “Here come them durned Apaches again!”

  CHAPTER 15

  It was a frontal attack, with mounted warriors charging directly at the rocks as they shouted and fired their weapons.

  As Luke squinted over the Winchester’s barrel, he noticed right away that only three of the Apaches had joined the assault. “Hold your fire,” he called to Aaron, who had rested the Henry’s barrel on the rock in front of him and was trying to draw a bead on one of the attackers. “This is just a diversion. They’re trying to keep our attention on them while the others get up on the ridge behind us.”

  “You sure about that?” Badger asked.

  “I’m confident,” Luke said. “Wait a minute and see what they do.”

  Sure enough, before the Apaches came within effective rifle range, they peeled off again.

  As they galloped back toward the canyon where the spring was located, Badger said, “You was right, Luke. What do we do now?”

  “How are your eyes, Badger?”

  “Sharp as an eagle’s!”

  Luke doubted that, but maybe the old-timer’s eyes were good enough for the task at hand. “You keep watch on our left and see if they try to flank us that way. I’ll watch to the right.”

  “How about me?” Aaron asked.

  “Catch your breath. There’ll be plenty for you to do, soon enough.”

  With a grim look on his face, Aaron nodded, then asked, “Are we going to get out of this alive?”

  “Why, sure we are!” Badger responded immediately. “That’s just a handful of Apaches out there. They’re pesky as hell, but they ain’t no match for us.”

  Aaron didn’t look like the old man’s bravado convinced him, but he didn’t say anything else.

  As Luke kept an eye on the landscape to their right, he asked, “How’s that wound in your side, Badger? All that running around and jumping on horseback didn’t make it open up again?”

  “It hurts like blazes, but it don’t seem to be bleedin’ much, if any. Under the circumstances, I’m gonna call it good.”

  “What happened to you?” Aaron asked.

  “One o’ those ’Paches creased me with a rifle bullet a day or two ago. That was when they jumped me the first time. But I got away from ’em, I durned sure did! That’s why I said you didn’t have to worry about ’em. They couldn’t even handle one old pelican like me!” Badger slapped his thigh and brayed in laughter.

  Again, it didn’t sound a hundred percent genuine, but Luke appreciated that he was trying to keep their spirits up.

  “Have you been following me ever since I left your mother’s spread?” he asked Aaron.

  “Yeah,” the boy answered with sullen defiance in his voice. “I wanted to see what happened when my pa’s past finally caught up to him. I wanted to see the look on his face. I still do.”

  Badger said, “Youngster, you got some powerful hate in you. You best be careful. Feelin’s like that’ll just plumb eat you up inside.”

  “You don’t know what my father put us through,” Aaron snapped.

  “And you didn’t think about what a bad situation you were leaving your mother in,” Luke said with a note of anger in his voice. “She was barely keeping the place going with your help. How do you think she’s doing all by herself?”

  “She can get somebody to help her,” Aaron muttered. “That dang ol’ sheriff would, if she’d just go to bed with him.”

  “Boy!” Badger exclaimed. “You hush your mouth about things like that! That’s your own ma you’re talkin’ about, dang it.”

  “Maybe so, but I know the way things work, and I’ve seen the way Sheriff Collins looks at her. Sho
ot, she could just marry him and move into town and forget all about that hardscrabble ranch.”

  “Is that what you want?” Luke asked. “Do you think it would be better if your father was dead and your mother was married to the sheriff?”

  “I don’t know what I want . . . except for my father to be punished for running off the way he did.”

  Luke let the conversation settle for a minute or two, then asked, “How did you come to be ahead of us that way? Did you know the Apaches were trying to spring a trap on us?”

  Aaron shook his head. “No, that was pure dumb luck. I lost your trail, and I guess I must’ve circled past you somehow. I climbed up on top of that ridge to take a better look around, and that’s when I heard gunshots back to the south. I saw you come riding out of that canyon, and then I spotted those Indians hiding in the rocks . . . these rocks where we are now.” The youngster swallowed hard. “I couldn’t just let them shoot you. So I started shooting at them.”

  “You told me you were good with that Henry,” Luke said. “That’s true, and Badger and I are probably alive because of it.”

  “We’re obliged to you, boy,” the old-timer said.

  “I guess out here . . . a man’s got to learn how to kill sooner or later,” Aaron said.

  “Some don’t,” Luke told him. “Some men are lucky and never encounter any real violence in their lives. But not many, here on the frontier. You’re right about that, too.”

  “Speakin’ o’ that,” Badger said, “I think I just saw somethin’ movin’ in that direction, ’bout half a mile over yonderways.”

  Luke turned to look but couldn’t see anything. “Some of the Apaches circling around us?”

  “That’d be my guess. Like you said, they’ve probably split up and some of the red devils are tryin’ to get behind us.”

  “Why don’t we just go up the ridge and get away from them?” Aaron asked.

  Luke took his hat off, put it on the end of the Winchester’s barrel, and slowly raised it up above the level of the rocks. A rifle cracked somewhere out on the flats, and the hat spun off the rifle barrel.