Part 30 (1/2)

”No,” shouted d.i.c.k determinedly. It was as much his fight as Jack's now.

Jack thought more for Echo in that moment than he did for himself.

Here was the man she loved. He must go back to her. The woman's happiness depended upon it. But Jack realized that while he was alive, d.i.c.k would stay. One supreme sacrifice was necessary.

”Go,” he cried, ”or I'll stand up and let 'em get me.”

”No, we can hold them off,” begged d.i.c.k, firing as he spoke.

Jack's hour had struck. It was all so supremely simple. There were no waving flags, no cheering comrades. He was only one of two men in the desert, dirty, grimy, and sweaty; his mouth dry and parched, his eyes stinging from powder-fumes, his hands numb from the effects of rapid firing. His mind worked automatically; he seemed to be only an onlooker. The man who first fought off the Apaches and who was now to offer himself as a sacrifice was only one of two Jack Paysons, a replica of his conscious self.

Swiftly Jack Payson arose and faced the Indians.

”Good-bye!” he cried to his comrade.

d.i.c.k struggled to his feet and threw himself on Jack to force him down behind the barricade. For a moment both men were in full view of the Apaches. A volley crashed up and across the canon. Both men fell locked in each other's arms, then lay still.

The Indians awaited the result of the shots. The strange actions of the men might be only a ruse. Silence would mean they were victorious.

Both Jack and d.i.c.k had been struck. Jack was the first to recover.

Reviving, he struggled out of the clasp of his unconscious comrade.

”He's. .h.i.t bad,” he said to himself, ”and so am I. I'll fight it out to the last, and if they charge they won't get us alive.”

d.i.c.k groaned and opened his eyes.

”I'm hit hard,” he whispered, ”you'd better go.”

Jack was on his hands and knees crawling toward his rifle when his comrade spoke.

”Listen,” he replied. ”We're both fixed to stay now, so lie close.

I'll hold 'em off as long as I can, but if they rush, save one shot for yourself--you understand?”

”Yes, not alive!” answered d.i.c.k weakly, his voice thin and his face ashen white with pain.

Jack reached the boulder, and with an effort raised himself and peered over the edge.

”They're getting ready. Will you take my hand now?” he asked, as he held it out to d.i.c.k.

”I sure will,” his wounded comrade cried, grasping it with all the strength he possessed.

Jack smiled in his happiness. He felt he had made his peace with all men and at last was ready to meet death with a clear conscience.

”It looks like the end. But we'll fight for it.”

The shrill war-whoops of the Indians, the first sound they had made in the fight, showed they felt confident of overcoming the men in the next rush.

Jack and d.i.c.k had abandoned the rifles and were now fighting the Indians off with their revolvers as they closed in on them.

Hardie had halted the night before at Clearwater Spring. Finding it but mud and alkali, he had merely rested his men and horses for a few hours, and then pushed on for Apache Spring, where he hoped to strike water. The troop rode through the early morning hours, full of grit, and keen to overtake the Apaches, traces of whose flight were becoming more evident every mile. All weariness had vanished. Even the horses felt there was something in the air and answered the bugle-call with fresh vigor and go.