in each scalp lock was pure white
with a vivid red tip. Two of them wore the black paint of untried
warriors, and all were gnawing on strips of meat grilled over the
fire.

Wetzel, placid and silent, leaned on his rifle and calmly stuffed a
cheek with a twist of black tobacco. "Reckon they be a little hard to
talk to?" he asked in a soft voice.

I shrugged. "Only one way I know of to find out."

"Thet fancy pistol you got could kill 'em all afore they get them bows
unlimbered."

"Are you suggesting I shoot them down without warning?"

It was his turn to shrug. "They be Indians."

The complete lack of feeling in his tone infuriated me. "You
cold-blooded bastard! I happen to be a good part Indian myself."

He eyed me without expression but with a chill glitter to his eyes.
"Aye. I ain't forgettin' thet," he said, and spat.

I took a slow breath and waited until I could trust my voice. "I'm
going out there," I said quietly. "Cover me with your gun. But don't
use it _unless_ it's the only thing left to do. I don't want that
trigger pulled until the last possible second. They may grab me, they
may even knock me around a little. That I can take. But don't try to
interfere until there's no other way out. Is that clear?"

"Aye."

I turned away from him. All I had to do now was step out from behind
that tree and walk across the open ground. Each of my feet suddenly
weighed a ton. Two steps into that clearing and the funeral could be
Monday. Instinctively my hand crawled toward the .38 automatic hidden
in my coveralls. It never got that far. Suicide was so final.

Wetzel's firm young mouth held an almost invisible sneer. Deliberately
I took out a cigarette, lighted it with an airy gesture and a match,
dragged deeply on it twice and threw it away. I said, "Lay off that
gun like I told you," and walked slowly out into the clearing.

* * * * *

It got a rise out of them, all right. They were on their feet, arrows
notched, before I had traveled three feet. I never even hesitated.
Once I had gone this far, the bluff had to be carried all the way out.
I kept my spine stiff, my head erect, my hands conspicuously empty at
my sides. If my nerves were jumping I was the only one who knew about
it.

It caught them just a shade off-balance, which was all I had hoped
for. The one-sidedness of six drawn bows against one unimpressive and
unarmed man eventually registered and the flint tips wavere