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Page 28

CHAPTER 2 - INDIAN TRAIL

what incongruous white man's jeans, tight round his legs, the young Apache made a magnificent, lithe figure of manhood. But to Rocky Bruce there was something sinister about him, something of the inhumanity of the animal.
The three talked, though Rocky could not hear a word of what was said. Tuck did most of the talking, with Pasco listening, his face remaining inscrutable, with Bud putting in an occasional word. Rocky would have given much to be able to draw closer but had enough sense to stay where he was. Pasco and the Werners, openly professing enmity, were in secret friendly enough; the implications that flowed from that discovery Rocky as yet could not fully develop, but he knew that at all costs those he was watching must remain unaware that he was on to them.
His heart beating fast, Rocky stayed where he was, pressing close against the boulders, hardly daring to breathe.
His father had not been reared in the West, had come to Black Creek driven by a deep desire to get away from the cities and make his living ranching. Old man Bruce was really a city man; but Rocky had been brought up here in Arizona and that made a difference, for his instinct for the open was thus the greater. His father could not have watched for long unseen, unheard, but Rocky was more expert.
He was not afraid that either of the Werners would detect him, but Pasco was a different proposition. Pasco was a full-blooded Apache, had inherited from countless forebears an instinct which left any white man standing. Rocky stayed where he was under cover, but he was fearful that Pasco would get on to him.
Yet the Indian didn't, seemed to have no awareness

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