“Are the sentries in, Sergeant?” “Yes, sir.” “Seen or heard anything?” Sergeant Isaacs’ voice was soft and wry. “No sir, that’s the trouble. It’s too damn quiet.” The detail was already awake. In the east was the faintest graying of the pre-dawn flush. The fire was dead and would remain so. Now Linus moved quietly among the detail whom he had disposed last night behind the cover of protecting boulders in a rough circle. He knew the first attack would be the heavy one, with the Apaches throwing all their numbers into it. If that were driven off, the detail’s chances of holding out for hours seemed a likely bet. Linus had already written off the horses on the picket line, which would be the first to go. Once Diablito thought he had them cornered, encircled, and afoot, he would be sure of his victory. Linus spoke to each man, telling each the same thing, to hold his fire until he could see, and to expect the all-out first attack which would erupt out of the rocks in front of them at the first light of dawn; he moved back then to his own position, exchanged his pistol for a carbine, placed the pistol beside him, and waited.
