"Apache knife--yes."

"What the devil do you mean, Graham?" and the veteran soldier, who

knew and liked the surgeon, whirled again on him with eyes that looked

not like at all.

The doctor turned, his somber gaze following the now distant figure of

the post commander, struggling painfully up the yielding sand of the

steep slope to the plateau. The stretcher bearers and attendants were

striding away to hospital with the now unconscious burden. The few

men, lingering close at hand, were grouped about the dead Apaches. The

gathering watchers along the bank were beyond earshot. Staff officer

and surgeon were practically alone and the latter answered: "I mean, sir, that if that Apache knife had been driven in by an

Apache warrior, Mullins would have been dead long hours ago--which he

isn't."

Byrne turned a shade grayer.

"Could she have done that?" he asked, with one sideward jerk of his

head toward the major's quarters.

"I'm not saying," quoth the Scot. "I'm asking was there anyone else?"




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