They had gathered the horses and settled in behind a jagged expanse of rocks with access to water and green grass, watching and waiting. Luke was a mass of agony, but he knew better than to express it, or even show it. Hel Morgan sat where he could watch Skye, and the most likely approach by the Apache. They had made their stand in a large cul-de-sac of clay, protected from behind by the tower of stone that threw shade over the area. The boulders in front of them were not round, but flat slabs of granite and rock, coated with dust and dotted with scrub brush and cactus. Beyond that were the large boulders and stone that would offer perfect concealment up to twenty feet away.

The water was a spring that welled up from underground, and with the source within sight, and Hel could keep it covered during the daylight hours with his rifle. If the Apache wanted to drink, they'd have to wait until dark. A trickle of water from the spring ran toward their shelter then vanished underground, only to reappear as a shallow one foot puddle directly behind them, inside the circle of rock. There was plenty of grass for the horses and scattered wood and branches for a fire. It was decided without words that a fire would wait until dark. Their fuel supply was limited, and they'd have to be careful.

Neither man wasted words, but had worked so long together that they fell into a comfortable routine. Luke was watching the horses and the flat frontal approach while Morgan kept his eyes searching the rocks near the spring, keen for any movement, any stir of dust. He'd seen the subtle approach of the Indians while thrashing Luke, and he'd almost missed the flash of dark brown skin dropping out of sight less than a quarter mile away. He'd known then that his life was dependent on Luke Skye, the reverse also true. His threat to up and run was just that, a threat. He'd have never made a mile, and he knew it.

The irony of having to spare the life of the man he'd been set to kill to save his own life was not lost on him. Hel promised himself that if they got out of this alive, he'd punish Luke Skye with more than his fair share of misery.

"Hel!" Luke's voice was soft, but sharp. "Watch it!"

Morgan glimpsed the flash of buckskin and brown flesh then the warrior was gone, vanishing into the rocks some ten feet closer than he'd been. Such adept fighters of the desert lands were they, that seeing the Apache before he leapt out at you in hand to hand combat was very rare. Hel had great respect for the Mescalero, and their wild brethren. He knew the skills they possessed, the tenacity, the ferocity and utter fearlessness. He didn't feel a hatred of them, but neither would he allow his admiration to prevent him from spilling Apache blood. He meant to live, and that usually meant more than one of them must die.

The sun waned in the sky as evening came, and no noise had been made, nothing seen by the vigilant watch of the two men. It was a slight relief, because that meant the Apache didn't have guns, and that would limit their reach. As the sun disappeared Morgan shifted in his position a little and happened to catch a sideways glance from Skye.

"You got somethin' to say?" he growled.

Luke was careful to keep his eyes on the darkening landscape.

"No, only...thanks."

"Don't thank me," Morgan's voice was hard, bitter. "This ain't over yet!"

The sun vanished from the horizon, leaving behind a blaze of orange pink sky and violet lined clouds. If it hadn't been for the perilous circumstances, Hel would've taken a moment to appreciate the beauty of it. There was nothing in the world like sunrise or sunset on the desert. There! A flash of movement and Morgan's rifle tracked it and he pulled the trigger in almost the same breath.

"Get him?" Luke asked without looking away from his field of vision.

"Not sure, slippery devils they are," Morgan was hushed, knowing voices would carry well in the darkness. "I thought he stumbled, but can't be sure."

Luke shifted suddenly his rifle aimed and ready but he didn't fire.

"They're on the move Hel, it'll be near impossible to keep 'em back."

"Just stay your place, Skye!" was the other man's retort. "No war was won at the first shot. As long as we draw breath, we fight!"

The world went dark and the chill in the air crept into them, making the men shiver. With care Morgan moved back and built a very small fire, setting up a quick pot of coffee, but careful to keep his eyes from the flames. He'd adjusted to the darkness, and couldn't afford to be blinded to the shadows, even for a moment. All was still quiet when he poured his cup and moved back to his place. Luke got a nod and he went to get his own cup, stiff, but fairly quiet.

Morgan let his eyes search the night, knowing he'd likely see movement without staring right at it. Knowing the Indians keen sense of smell, he realized they'd know a fire had been made, and probably knew their prey was drinking coffee. It made him smile a little, knowing the Indians were out there without warmth, without food or coffee, at least until this was over. He became aware that Luke was watching him more than what was comfortable, and he turned cold green eyes briefly on the man.

"You know...she was an accide-" his words were cut off by an abrupt move from Hel, and Luke found himself staring down the black barrel of Morgan's rifle.

"You say one word, just one, I'll break you and leave you to them." Hel's voice was soft, and icy.

"I thought you should know," Luke's voice was a whisper, his eyes sincere. "I had nothin' but respect for-...for you an' yours."

Morgan's eyes had frosted over, his mouth a grim, hard line.

"That would mean something to me, Skye, if your opinion meant anything at all."

His callous statement was met with silence and the younger man turned his eyes back to the darkness. Hel also shifted back to his post, and the long hours of darkness stretched out before them. Occasionally they spelled each other with short naps, but neither one dared fall to deep sleep, and Hel wasn't trusting enough to really sleep at all. The darkness hours of the night were the coldest, and both men retreated a little back towards the warmth of the small fire. It was unlikely an attack would happen at night, but it wasn't worth a man's life to trust the wily Apache. Every herd had their black sheep.

Luke made another pot of coffee, and he filled a cup for Morgan, holding it out. Hel took it with a look of utter indifference, never taking his eyes off the shadows.

"Morgan," he started softly.

"Shut up." The command was snapped out quietly, but with bitter anger.

"You an' I both know you can't kill me, not now. So I'm gonna have my say, an' you'll listen!"

Morgan looked at the younger man, his face a mask of fury, but he held his tongue. He knew as well as Luke the young man spoke the truth.

"I think you should know, I never meant to hurt Missus Morgan. I would never," he stopped suddenly, as if thinking. "She was a fine woman, and I'll regret what I done to her for the rest of my life. But it's been two years Hel. Ain't that enough time?"

Morgan looked at his earnest face, the sincere look in his eyes and nodded slowly.

"I reckon, if Beth was here, she'd say two years is too long, that I shoulda moved on a long time ago," he paused briefly, taking a deep breath, "But she ain't here, and two years is nothing to me. For her, I'd hunt you for two hundred years if I had to. What about Vic Bayne, and his boy Tim? Is two years long enough to forget you murdered them for nothing? You can have your regrets, and welcome to them, but you're payin' for what you've done, if I have to kill you myself!"

Luke's eyes went dark as his face hardened.

"You're a fool, Morgan! When this is over I'm gonna cut you down and leave you to rot out here."

Hel was faintly amused at the sour look on Luke Skye's face, and he chuckled softly.

"You never seen the day you could throw a shadow on me boy, and when this is over, I'm goin' to pin your ears back grease you down and swallow you whole."