Free Norton, Andre - Novel 15 by Stand to Horse (v1.0)

They ain't
human—the Apaches—they're half-lion, half-bear. He'll march us all out on our
feet—if he has to!"
                   But the Sergeant had taken a small package out
of the front of his coat and opened it to display a pair of heavy socks and a
second pair of moccasins. He signed the boy to sit, and when the Indian paid no
attention, swept him off his feet and with Tuttle's aid got both socks and
moccasins on him.
                   "Let's go!" He was on his feet
again. "We'd better reach the horses and be heading out of the mountains
before the storm closes in."
                   Ritchie glanced up at the mountain peaks
above. The thick curtain of clouds which had hung there most of the morning was more dense . And certainly the snow was falling faster;
the fine mist of spinning particles was taking on more weight and substance.
                   "Hm." Maybe
no one but Ritchie heard Tuttle's mutter. "The game's made, 'n the ball's rollin', gents."
                   That had been the cry of the gambler in Santa Fe . He shivered. The game had started, but
what were the stakes this time—their own lives?
     

5
     
''A Right Smart Lot of
Snow''
     
                   The canny black Ritchie was riding was
foot-sure and steady—even over a trail which had ceased to exist sometime back
except as a white-blanketed cut through never-ending heights. Above, the gray
clouds had broken, and now the air was thick with whirling flakes which muffled
sound and hid from sight the men ahead. When they halted, Ritchie almost rode down
the very man who had signaled the stop.
                   By tramping and beating down drifts, they
achieved a pocket under the overhang of the cliff. As Ritchie rubbed down the
steaming black, he wondered how long the gelding could keep going on the
handful of corn which was all that remained in his provision bag. Tuttle's mule
was gnawing hungrily at a pine branch, and two of the horses reluctantly
followed its example.
                   The fire they huddled about was pocket-sized.
Forage for enough wood to enlarge it would have taken them out of sight. And
both Tuttle and the Sergeant were against that. It was Herndon who outlined
their position in frank enough words.
                   ''We're staying here until it clears. Wander
out in this and lose our bearings, and that's the finish!"
                   ''Stay here 'n starve!" burst out one of
the men. "We ain't got more'n 'bout two days food with us—"
                  "Two days full feed can make 'bout five
or six short rations," Tuttle pointed out. ''We draw up our belts a mite
maybe. Git out in this stuff, man, 'n we can be goin' six ways from Sunday 'n
not know it! Want them fellas to have the last word?"
                   Down the wind came a long mournful howl. The
horses stamped uneasily, and the men glanced over their shoulders into the gray
mist of the outer world.
                   Something moved against Ritchie, hunching close enough to make him feel real pressure. He looked down.
The little Apache was holding his hands out to the fire. He did not raise his
eyes. But, when again that dismal howl came floating through the snow, he
shivered. Ritchie picked up one of the blankets he had just pulled off his
horse and dropped it around the small bony shoulders. Brown claw hands caught
at its edges and whipped it tighter, so that only darting eyes could be seen
through a slit.
                   "Turn in our rations, huh?"
Kristland sounded slightly shocked. " 'N who's
goin' to divide 'em? Some of us have bin more savin'—"
                   Herndon's remote, tired voice still held a
patient note. "We're all in this together, man. If we don't share and
share alike, work, food, clothing, we may not be able to make it."
                   Ritchie had already pidled out the