Out on the flats to the west of the Verde road, full five hundred yards away from rock, tree or shelter, other than mere clump of cactus, pumpkin size, or bunch of dirty weed, there was lying a little heap of dingy white and brown, with a cow pony kicking at empty air in a shallow ditch--what was left of the half-breed herd guard and his mount. With most of the cavalry gone, the quartermaster had supplied their place with such mounted men as he could make available, and in broad daylight, within long rifle-shot of the sentry lines, the Apaches had squirmed out, snake-like, on their bellies, unseen, unsuspected; had picked off one of two watchers and stampeded the other. The skirmish line stumbled over the survivor, quaking among the willows in the stream bed, and kicked him out into the open to help bear home his murdered brother; then pushed out as far as the first ridge in hopes of a shot, and were rewarded with nothing better than a glimpse of vanishing breech-clouts. Falling slowly back, toward noon, Bonner posted two men in each of a dozen rifle-pits, some fifty yards outside the sentry lines, as a rule, and wherever view of the approaches could be had. Two of these were on little knolls to the south of the store, and here were Craney & Co. in full force, every man armed with a Henry rifle and a war-model Colt, "Mr. Case-Keeper Book," as Sergeant Clancy jovially hailed him, quite as formidable as his fellows, and every whit as cool. Craney held that he and his men had a right to be counted in among those told off to hold the fort, and Bonner smilingly assented. "You two seem to hit it off pretty well together," said he to Case and Clancy. "I reckon we'll Cossack you over yonder," and he pointed to a scooped-out little hummock nearest the stream, commanding much of the southward road and the trail along the willows, now facetiously termed the "Ghost Walk." It was an unusual assignment, or distribution, but it seemed to strike the fancy of both. In times of peril and at the fore-posts men think less of rank and more of repute. Clancy was known far and wide as a fearless Apache fighter, with a Gaines's Mill-Gettysburg record behind him. Case had never before been heard of afield, but his one exploit in the card room stamped him unerringly, said these frontier experts, as "a man of nerve." Clancy held out his big red hand. "Are ye with me?" said he. "Yours truly," said Case. "Then come on, Pitkeeper," said Clancy, "and we'll leave Book and Case behind." The general came jogging down at the moment, bestriding one of Bucketts's general utility beasts, watching the posting of the post defenders, and he screwed his eyelids down to a slit as he glared from under the brim of his then unorthodox slouch hat, and squinted after the combination of soldier and civilian stalking away to the assigned station. "What have you there, Bonner?" he asked, as he reined in.