"Rosemary, are you able to stand it?" Floyd put this question to his sister as the weary captives were urged along the trail by the Yaquis.
"We've justgotto stand it, Floyd," was the brave answer. "Help must come to us, and we must bear up until it does come."
"Oh, I can stand it all right—I really don't mind. But for you—it must be terrible! And the worst of it is I can't do a thing to help you."
"Not now, no, Floyd," Rosemary answered, with a brave attempt at a smile. "But we must watch our chance. These Mexican Indians aren't like our own—or like our own used to be. They aren't half as smart. We ought to be able to escape from them if we get half a chance."
"Well, maybe, Rosemary. But they're bad enough if they aren't smart."
Floyd spoke with all the evidence on his side. For a more disreputable, unsavory, desperate and wicked band of men it would be almost impossible to find. Repulsive in face, dirty, tattered and torn, wearing all sorts of cast off garments, a few in blankets, astride bony and broken horses, most of them, but each one armed with gun, revolver or knife, it was a crew of pirates, cut-throats, highwaymen to be carefully shunned.
"Well, I'm glad to see you keeping your courage up, Rosemary," remarked her brother, trying to ease himself in the saddle. It was not very feasible, as the captives were partly tied to prevent their escape, and they could not shift about as they pleased.
"Oh, we have to make the best of it, Floyd," his sister told him."They haven't treated us roughly yet."
"No, and I wonder at it."
"It's because they have taken us for a ransom, I'm sure. They know if they don't hand us over in good shape there will be no ransom money for them."
"Who do you think they count on getting it from?"
"Our relatives, of course. Or maybe they think Uncle Sam will intervene on our behalf."
"I wish to goodness he would—that he'd send a band of U.S. regulars after this bunch of pirates. Golly! How the Yaquis would scatter; eh, Rosemary?"
"Maybe we'll see that soon, Floyd. And maybe the boys from the Diamond X will come to our rescue. You know Bud's mother wrote that he and his two eastern cousins had a ranch of their own now. My message ought to reach some one."
"I hope it does, Rosemary. But who's this coming up?"
The talk of brother and sister had attracted the attention of the Indians, and there had been muttered comments. Following this one of the knot of guards around the two captives had spurred ahead to where Paz rode. Then back with the messenger came riding an Indian better mounted and equipped than most of the members of the band.
He forced his horse between the steeds of Rosemary and Floyd, and gave each of them a grin he may have intended to be friendly.
"What's the idea—Mike?" asked Floyd.
"Mike? Why do you call him that?" asked Rosemary.
"Because he looks friendly enough to be an Irishman," was the answer. "See, he has a turned up nose, I verily believe he has Irish blood in him. Let's call him Mike."
"Mike" grinned, though doubtless he understood nothing of what was said.
"He does look Irish," agreed Rosemary. "But I don't see how."
The explanation probably was that some wandering, adventuring Irishman had married an Indian woman. The Yaquis, like many other Indian or native tribes often intermarried. In fact it was this that in a measure led to their downfall. For they lost the ideals of their race, disease crept in and to-day many a band of what was once a noble people is but a dragged-out remnant, steeped in crime.
The Yaquis were once among the best of the Mexican Indian tribes. Though not large in numbers they were clean-living and of high character. The Spanish conquest of Mexico marked the beginning of the end for them, as it did many another Mexican race.
There was once a great civilization existing in the narrow strip of land connecting North and South America. Now only the faintest traces remain.
Once the Indian tribes flourished, they may even have had a written language, of which now only a few idiograms remain. The men and women were skilled in basketry, pottery and the making of gold and silver ornaments.
But they fell upon evil days, or evil days came to them, it matters little which, and they began to go down. Today there are only a few thousands of the Yaquis left, and they have degenerated into train robbers along the Southern Pacific line. They live like beasts, they have mingled with negroes, degenerate Spaniards and Mexicans until it is almost an insult to apply the name "Indian" to them.
And it was a band of such natives as this that had captured Rosemary and Floyd. Kept as much as possible to the confines of what might be termed, unofficially, a reservation, the Yaquis occasionally broke through the line of Mexican soldier guards and went on a rampage, often crossing the border into Arizona, as happened in the spring of 1921, when several Americans were killed in a border town.
It was an uprising of this same nature which had spelled trouble for Rosemary and her brother. They had happened along at the wrong time, as it were.
Tired and weary, in body and spirit, the captives were urged forward. "Mike" as our friends had dubbed him, seemed good natured enough, for he kept a perpetual grin on his face. His mission seemed to be to ride between Rosemary and Floyd, and prevent any collusion to escape.
However there was no time or chance to think of that now. The cavalcade filed along a narrow, rocky gorge, from which there was no side trail. Paz and some of his more intimate followers rode in the van, and the rear guard was made up of ragged Indians—with apologies for using the name.
Rosemary and Floyd would not have had a chance had they been able to turn their horses and make a bolt for it. So they must ride on. They were too weary to talk now, they could only hope for the best. When would the rescuers come?
A halt was made at noon, and some coarse food was passed to the captives. Rosemary shuddered at it and turned away.
"You must eat," Floyd told her. "Got to keep up your strength you know."
And she managed to choke down a few mouthfuls.
The afternoon passed wearily. They were going deeper into the mountains it seemed. There appeared to be some dispute between Paz on one side and a few of his followers on the other. And it seemed to have to do with a place to camp for the night. The men wanted to stop while the sun was yet in sight, but Paz insisted on going on until it was below the jagged peaks. Then he indicated a place where camp was to be made.
Mike slid off his horse, and, loosening the ropes, indicated thatRosemary and Floyd were to do the same. So cramped and stiff wasRosemary that she fell in a heap as she slid from the saddle. With acry Floyd sprang to her aid, only to be thrust back by Mike.
"What do you mean?" yelled the boy. "I want to help my sister—you—you—"
He was spluttering with rage as he raised his hand, and looked about for a rock with which to attack the Indian.
"Don't—Floyd!" called Rosemary calmly. "I am all right—just numb, that's all! Don't get into a fight. They may separate us!"
Indeed that did seem to be the orders given by Paz, who rode up a moment later. For Mike took Rosemary by the arm, and was leading her away, while another Indian, dirty, greasy and with an evil grin on his fat face, thrust Floyd to one side.
"Stop!" suddenly cried Rosemary. She swung free of Mike's grasp, and in an instant that individual was looking straight into the muzzle of a small but very serviceable automatic.
Bubbling over with mirth, at the manner in which they had gotten the best of Del Pinzo and his gang, the outfit from Diamond X rode on the trail again, once more intent on trailing the Yaquis that had captured Floyd and Rosemary. And if Bud, Nort and Dick could, at that moment, or thereabouts, have seen Rosemary boldly defying the evil-faced Mike with her automatic, their admiration for the girl would have been manifested by yells of approval.
But Bud and his chums, with their cowboy friends, were all unaware of what was happening farther on in the desolate mountain whither the Indians had led their captives. If they had been they probably would not have ridden on in such comparative leisure. For they did not rush at headlong pace, knowing they had a long, long trail ahead of them, and must conserve not only their strength, but, what was more important, that of their horses.
Without horses it would have been impossible to have gone on for more than a short distance in that wild country. As I have explained motor cars, even the marvelous little Ford, would have been out of the question, so rough was the trail, so winding amid rocks, now down in some narrow defile, hardly wide enough for a single rider, and again ascending some slope tangled with brush and dead trees.
Knowing themselves to be thus dependent on their horses our heroes saved their steeds all they could. It was for this reason that, much as they hated Del Pinzo and his gang, they would not deprive these outlaws of what was a means of life—their horses.
"But they won't ride after us, and I don't believe they'll give us any more trouble," chuckled Bud, as he visioned the outlaws, used to their comfortable if clumsy saddles, riding bareback. To a horseman this is the limit of torture, for the horses of the west are no circus animals, with broad, flat backs. Instead, they generally have a ridge of bone on which it is almost impossible to ride, even when a blanket or two is strapped on in place of a saddle. Only an Indian can manage to ride along with but a blanket for a seat.
"Yes, we put one over on them all right," agreed Dick.
"The only thing about it is that they held us up," remarked Nort."We're several hours behind our schedule now."
"It can't be helped," spoke Bud, looking at a deep scratch on his hand—a scratch caused by a glancing bullet. "We can't really do anything toward rescuing Rosemary and Floyd until we strike the trail of the Yaquis, and it's mostly guess work until then."
"But when we do locate them!" exclaimed Nort, as he gripped the handle of his gun, "we'll let 'em see what a mistake they made!"
"You got rid of a mouthful that time, son," observed Yellin' Kid. And then, lifting his voice he roared out:
"As I was ridin' on the trail,My true love for to see.I met a four-legged grizzly bear,An' th' grizzly he met me!
"'Oh kind Mr. Bear,' I gently called,'Move on!' but he shook his head.So then I ups with my .45An' fills him full of lead!"
Having gotten this out of his "system," Yellin' Kid seemed to feel better. He smiled genially at the boy ranchers, and flapping his hat down on the side of his pony sent the animal ahead in a cloud of dust to join some of his companions in the lead.
Thus, making merry as possible under the circumstances, the outfit from Diamond X resumed the trail, the more experienced cowboys looking here and there for any "sign" that would indicate the presence or the passage of the Yaquis.
As a matter of fact Snake Purdee did not expect to "meet up" with any of the Indians for some time. He and Rolling Stone had talked the matter over, and Rolling Stone had given the benefit of his experience in trailing Yaquis.
"With them," said the new acquisition to Diamond X, "it's a sort of a flash in the pan. They get excited for some reason or other, have a war dance, a pow wow or some ceremony, and before they know it some crazy leader has taken the trail with some of his friends, and they're bent on shooting up some Mexican or American town, getting strong drink when they can, and stealing everything they can lay their dirty paws on.
"That's when they're in the first rush of excitement, and I take it that it was on a time like this the Yaquis took Miss Rosemary and Floyd. Why they did this, instead of shooting 'em, as they generally do, I can't make out. The Yaquis don't ordinarily use those methods."
"Unless they took my cousins to hold for ransom," suggested Bud.
"Well, of course that's possible, but I didn't know the Yaquis were that smart," answered Rolling Stone. "Still, some new leader may have gotten together a band, or it may be some half breed, or even some renegade American is at the bottom of this. I can understand a chap like that holding prisoners for ransom.
"But what I started to say was that once the first wild outburst is over, the Yaquis will keep mighty quiet. They won't go about with a brass band, advertising their hiding places."
"You mean it won't be easy to find them?" asked Nort.
"That's it, son. They're going to be mighty cute and foxy, and while a Yaqui isn't in it with our old time American Indians in the matter of covering a trail, still we aren't going to have any walkover. We've got our work cut out for us."
"I believe you!" shouted Yellin' Kid. "But we'll get the devils sooner or later."
"The sooner the better," said Rolling Stone quietly, and there was in his very quietness a menace which the boys understood very well. Every hour that Rosemary and Floyd remained in the hands of the Yaquis meant an ever increasing danger. And once the mad frenzy of the Indians wore off and they began to realize what they had done, anticipating the consequences once they were captured with the prisoners in their possession, there was hardly a question of what they would do to Rosemary and Floyd. The captives would be killed to get them out of the way.
It was this that urged the rescue party ahead with all the speed possible, and consistent with preserving their horses' power to travel.
In spite of wounds, and some were seriously hurt (one dying later) there was no sign of gloom in the midst of the party of which the boy ranchers formed an important element. Some of the cowboys sang, and Yellin' Kid intoned another verse or two of the many songs with which he seemed plentifully provided.
Coming to a deep ravine, along which the trail led into the mountains, where it was reported the Yaquis had headed, Snake Purdee called a halt.
"What's the matter now?" asked Rolling Stone.
"Do you see anything?" asked Bud, for he noticed the veteran cowboy looking down into the black depths.
"No," answered Snake slowly, "but it strikes me this is a good place to get rid of the saddles and truck we took offen Del Pinzo. No use carting the duffle along. It's no good to us and it only tires our pack mules. Heave it down this gully, boys and we'll ride lighter."
This was soon done, and the baggage animals, at least, went forward with easier burdens. The trail became more rough as it led upward, but Snake explained that they would cross one range of the mountain, and come to a level plain which must be traversed before the second range would be reached.
"And we'll either come across the Yaquis in the plain, or as we go up the second mountain," said the cowboy. "That will be about their limit I fancy."
They camped that night on the downward slope of the first mountain, having crossed the ridge through a narrow pass, not easy to negotiate. There was a more tense feeling when this night camp was made than at any time before.
"For it seems now, somehow," explained Bud, "that we're within striking distance of the Yaquis. We're trailing 'em close!"
"The closer the better—so, we can get a few shots at 'em!" declaredNort.
"Will they really make a stand and fight?" asked Dick.
"I don't know," Bud replied. "I never—"
"They'll fight all right!" interrupted Rolling Stone. "They'll fight now just through fear of being captured. The first hot impulses that caused them to run wild are cooling off. They'll be worse to tackle now than when they first took the war path, for they will be cool and calculating, while before they were hot headed, and anyone who used half his brains could best 'em. Yes, we aren't going to have a picnic."
"Well, we didn't come for that," said Dick grimly.
He and his companion boy ranchers were willing to endure all the hardships and dangers with the more seasoned cowboys, and Bud and Nort who, until within a comparatively recent time were unused to western ways, were now accounted as capable of Bud, than which there was no higher praise.
There was evident in the manner in which campfires were built, and a system of sentinel guards posted, that the older men realized the nearness of danger. The cowboys had dropped their half bantering manner, and sat grim-lipped and thoughtful of eye about the blaze. This change in their manners affected our youthful heroes who looked at one another somewhat apprehensively, and more than once let their hands stray to their weapons.
But the night passed without untoward incident, if we except a false alarm given by Bud when he was standing guard. He had been pacing backward and forward for some hours, and it was almost time for his relief, when he saw, peering over the top of a rock, what he took to be the feathered headdress of an Indian. Forgetting, for the moment that the Yaquis did not adopt the picturesque adornments of the American redmen, Bud fired, at the same time letting out a yell.
Of course, this roused the whole camp, and you can appreciate Bud's chagrin when his "Indian" proved to be nothing more than a waving branch of a bush topping a rock. The waving leaves had looked like feathers in the starlight, by which alone Bud had seen them.
"Well, I wasn't taking any chances," he said, when the cause of his alarm was ascertained.
"That's right," Yellin' Kid assured him.
Morning saw the party in saddle again, and as better time could be made on the down trail, they reached the intervening plain of the valley, between the two mountain ranges well before noon.
A halt was made for "grub," and it was after this meal, when they were about to proceed again, that an astounding discovery was made. Dick gave the alarm. He had gone off a little way to get his pony, which had strayed, when he saw, on the far horizon, a band of horsemen. They were too distant to be made out clearly, but against the intensely blue sky Dick saw waving lances, and he at once shouted:
"Indians!"
This was enough to focus all eyes, first on him and then on the approaching band. The waving lances could plainly be seen now.
"And look there!" cried Nort, as he pointed to the North, a direction exactly opposite to that whence the horsemen discovered by Dick were approaching.
"More Indians!" shouted Yellin' Kid.
Snake Purdee leaped to a high rock and with rapid gaze swept the horizon.
"They're coming from all directions," he said grimly, as he leaped down and began a rapid survey of their position, with a view to its defence. "We're being surrounded!"
And this was so. From all points there rode in on the outfit from Diamond X an ever narrowing circle of horsemen, many of whom carried lances which pointed toward the zenith.
"They aren't Yaquis," exclaimed Rolling Stone. "Those Mexican Indians don't carry lances. They must have met up with a band from some American reservation and have gotten them to go on the warpath. This looks bad!"
With a skill and foresight which never seemed to leave them, the leaders of the rescue expedition had selected the place for the dinner stop with a view to its possible defense in case of emergency. This was part and parcel of life in the west, especially when on an expedition of this character.
In consequence there were several natural places of refuge and hiding, behind which a fight could be conducted. And as soon as it was ascertained that a body of horseman—hostile it seemed they must be—were riding against them, the first thought was how best a fight could be conducted.
"Get in the horses!" commanded Rolling Stone. "They'll shoot them off first crack out of the box, for they'll know we're done for without our animals."
As the rescuers had been about to move when the approaching party was discovered, and as some of the cowboys actually had their horses in hand, the securing of the remainder of the steeds was a work of no great moment.
At one edge of the roughly outlined circle in which the noon camp had been pitched, was a group of big rocks, that would make a natural stable and hiding place for the horses. The animals were led into this little corral, and made fast there by lariats. As much of the baggage as possible was piled in with the horses.
This much done by Bud and his friends it was necessary to look to themselves, for the strange horsemen were slowly but surely coming on, and it was beyond question that they had entirely surrounded our heroes. From all points of the compass, a thin line it is true, but one in which there were no breaks, in came the attackers.
"We've got to form a circle ourselves," said Snake grimly. "Get down as low as you can, boys, each one behind a rock, and with one at your back if you can make it. They won't rush us at first. They'll try to pick us off until they find out how many of us there are."
Quickly the others followed his advice. It was an admirable place to defend, and other things being equal could be held by a small band against a large body. But the factors of food and water would enter into the fight, and though the camp was watered by a little stream, everyone from Diamond X knew the first act of the attackers would be to go higher up and cut off the supply of fluid. In this hot summer season men and beasts could only last a short time without water.
Then, having seen to it that the boy ranchers and the others were in as good a position of defense as possible, Snake Purdee picked out his own little niche and laid out on the ground in front of him his supply of cartridges.
Each man—and by "man" I include the boy ranchers—had a rifle and a revolver, or, rather, automatic, each weapon using cartridges of the same caliber. Thus only one sort of ammunition had to be packed, and there was greater efficiency afforded.
"Get ready," called Yellin' Kid in as low a voice as he ever used. "They've come to a stop for a talk, and they'll begin shooting soon I reckon."
The feet of the steeds ridden by the advancing horsemen had raised a cloud of dust which hung about them like a hazy curtain, preventing a clear view. In fact, after the first glimpse of the riders they had only been seen as dim figures approaching through this haze of dust.
But now, as they had stopped, as Yellin' Kid had said, the dust began to drift away, and, for the first time our friends had a comparatively clear view of those surrounding them.
It was Bud who first gave the good news. Looking intently at a horseman nearest him, the boy suddenly leaped to his feet and gave a shout that could be none other than joyous in its meaning.
"Get down, you idiot!" cried Snake. "Do you want a bullet through you?"
But the lad continued to shout and yell, waving his hat, and there was no fusillade of shots from the ring of horsemen. Then, for the first time Bud made himself understandable, for he shouted:
"They aren't Indians! They aren't Indians! They're United StatesTroopers! Hooray! Now we've got our help!"
"Troopers?" repeated Snake, for a cloud of dust had blown about him, greatly obscuring his vision.
"Troopers—sure!" yelled Nort, now seeing what Bud had beheld.
And a moment later it was clear to all of the surrounded band that the horsemen were, indeed, mounted men of Uncle Sam's cavalry—a company of lancers, a type of the armed force that has gone out of existence now, but one which was very effective in some Indian fights.
A bugle rang out clear and sweet from somewhere in that surrounding circle of troopers, and instantly the outer edges of the ring began closing in. Then our friends, knowing their fright had been without foundation, rose up from their hiding places and, standing together, with Snake at their head as commander, waited for what was to come next.
It was not long in manifesting itself. A trooper, evidently an orderly from a group of officers in front of our friends, rode up, waved his hand in place of a salute when he saw he had to deal with one of his own kind, and asked:
"Who are you and what are you doing?"
"We're from Diamond X ranch," replied Snake, "and we're on the trail of the Yaquis who have captured some of our friends!"
"Oh, the Yaquis!" exclaimed the trooper, in evident surprise. "Why, we're after the same bloody beggars! Glad to have met you. We seem to be off the trail for some reason. Captain Marshal will want to speak to you. Better come with me."
"Wait 'til I get my horse," murmured Snake, for, like all westerners, he hated to take more than a few steps out of the saddle.
A moment later he was riding toward the officers of Uncle Sam's troopers, while the remainder of the lancers riding in, mingled with the small force from Diamond X.
"It's good to see you fellows!" chuckled Bud as the bronze-faced soldiers gathered around the boy ranchers.
"We were just about to open fire on you," said one of the lancers, and Nort and Dick noticed that in addition to the steel-tipped weapon each trooper carried a carbine and wore a revolver in his belt. The lances were, in reality, more for show than for actual use, though in charging the hostile Indians the spears had served many a useful purpose.
"Glad you didn't," said Yellin' Kid. "There'd have been trouble, for we were all primed for you," and he waved his hand toward the rocks amid which some cowboys were just arising, picking up the ammunition they had spread out for quick use.
"We thought you were Yaquis, and we had orders to shoot to kill," explained another trooper.
"And we took you for Indians—not exactly Yaquis, for they don't carry lances," said Dick. "I'm glad it was a mistake all around."
"But say, do you fellows know anything about these dirty Mexicans who have crossed the border?" asked a third trooper, a lieutenant from his stripes, it would appear. "I won't call 'em Indians, though I reckon they are, of a sort. But where are they? We got orders to take after 'em, but we can't get sight of so much as a dirty blanket."
"Well, we think we're on their trail," Bud answered, "though maybe we are as far off as you are. Anyhow—"
But he did not complete the sentence. From the distance a single shot rang out, and as all turned they saw, standing on the sharp horizon line, a solitary figure, from near which arose a thin wisp of smoke.
"What's that?" cried Snake, turning from where he had been talking withCaptain Marshall. "Real Indians this time?"
"Nothing to worry about," answered the commander of the troopers with a smile. "That's one of my scouts, and he's evidently found something."
"Found something?" questioned the veteran cowboy.
"Indian sign, most likely. I sent several men out, just before we sighted your party and took you for the Yaquis. I told my men, if they discovered anything, to get within sight of us and fire one shot. Then they were to stay on the spot until we came to investigate, and that's what we'll do now."
"Do you think it's the trail of the Yaquis he has discovered?" askedNort, waving his hand toward the solitary horseman.
"It may be—I rather hope so, for we haven't had any luck thus far in locating the beggars. When we sighted you we thought we were in for a fight, but it didn't happen," the captain added, his voice quite rueful.
"I notice you came along all primed for business!" chuckled Yellin' Kid.
"But we were ready for you—in case you had turned out to be thoseMexican imps!" added Rolling Stone.
"Yes, you seemed to have picked out a good spot," complimented the cavalry captain. "We were just talking among ourselves that we were going to have trouble in getting you out, when we saw one of you wave a hat and then we knew it was all right. In a way we were glad, for this fighting is nasty business at best, though we don't pass any of it up when it comes our way," he added with an air of pride in his troop.
"You weren't any gladder to find out there was a mistake than we were," said Dick. "You soldiers looked like a lot of Indians with lances and scalps dangling from them." Indeed the lances of the troopers were decorated with wisps from the tails of horses, and, at a distance, might have resembled grewsome human scalps.
"There are few Indians, now-a-days who use lances," said Captain Marshall. "They went out of date about the time Fenimore Cooper wrote about Leather Stocking. The Indians didn't keep to their bows and arrows, or lances, once they could get guns and powder. I don't know much about the Yaquis, but I fancy they did the same—discarded their lances, if they ever used any, and their bows, for guns."
"Another thing," added Lieutenant Snow, who was next in command to his captain, "scalps were too precious a trophy to dangle from the point of a lance. Some Indians may have tied strands of human hair on their lances, but I doubt if they used scalps. The scalps were hung at the belt of the man who took them, to be afterward displayed in his tepee. But I don't believe the Mexican Indians followed that practice, though of course I'm not certain about it."
"The modern Yaquis are mean enough to do anything," said Rolling Stone. "What the old timers did doesn't matter now. It's what these of today do. And I reckon ye've heard how a party of 'em has taken prisoners some of their friends," and he waved his hand toward the outfit from Diamond X, of which he was not yet a full-fledged member.
"Yes, we heard about the uprising," admitted Captain Marshall. "We had orders to take the trail, and we've been on it since. Well, as long as you are ready, we may as well trot over and see what the scout has to report. I hope he can put us on the real trail."
The bugle sounded, the troopers formed, and with the boy ranchers and their friends falling in the rear, an unofficial part of the company of regulars, the cavalcade set forth again.
On the way Snake Purdee, who rode beside Captain Marshall, told such details as he possessed about the capture of Rosemary and Floyd. The officer had heard pretty much the same story, for it had been wired to distant points on the theory that the Yaquis would scatter, and there was no telling in which direction they would travel.
"So Del Pinzo is on the rampage again; is he?" asked the Captain, as they neared the lone scout, who was patiently waiting to impart such information as he had.
"Well, he won't rampage an awful lot until he gets a new outfit!" chuckled Yellin' Kid, who had ridden up to be on hand when the scout was reached.
"What do you mean? Did you shoot him up?" asked the cavalry captain. "If you did you ought to get a medal of honor, for of all the rascals in this section he's the worst."
"We shot him and his followers up a bit," admitted Snake, "but we didn't damage 'em as we ought. However we took their horse furniture and guns away and left 'em their animals. It'll be a few days before they get active again."
"Good!" exclaimed Captain Marshall. "And now we'll hear what Kelly has to report."
The scout saluted as his commanding officer rode up, and the others, realizing that there was a certain need of reserve in this first interview, held back until the captain should signify that he was ready to talk to them. For a time Captain Marshall and Private Kelly talked in low tones, the scout frequently leaning over to point to something on the ground, the captain gazing intently where his trooper indicated. Finally the commander waved his hand to invite his fellow officers and troopers, as well as the members of Diamond X, to approach.
"Kelly has found it," said the captain. "Plenty of Indian sign, which shows the Yaquis, or some of them at least, passed this way. Here's the trail, and we'll follow it. Do you want to come with us?" he asked of Snake Purdee.
"Well, we'd like to, if it isn't asking too much. Our main object is to get within shooting distance of these Yaquis, and save this Rosemary girl and her brother."
"Precisely our object," the captain said. "And as long as we have the same business I think we can do better together than if we separate. Your men will undoubtedly be of service to us if the trail gets fainter, and there's no telling how many are in this band, so the more guns we have the better."
"My idea," agreed the leader from Diamond X. "And now let's have a look at this Indian sign. Rolling Stone here claims to know a lot about the Yaquis, and he may be able to put us wise to some of their wrinkles. Come here, Stone!" he invited.
In order not to obliterate the faint marks in the soil which indicated the passage of a body of horsemen, the troopers, with Bud and his friends, had halted some distance away from the lone scout. The latter had remained a little way off the trail, so his own horse's feet would not mingle with those of the enemy.
For some time the older cowboys, Rolling Stone, Captain Marshall and a few of his men who had fought Indians years back, gazed at the Indian "sign" as it is called. In this sense the word means the evidences left by a passing body of Indians, the casual and accidental record of passage. The word is also used to indicate arbitrary marks and symbols made by one body of Indians to leave a message for some body of following savages. This sign language is very difficult for a person not accustomed to it to read, though it can not be said that the degenerate Yaquis had the art down as fine as had our own American Indians of two or three generations ago.
"Well, they've been along here, and they're headed that way," saidRolling Stone, thus confirming the opinion of the older troopers.
"Then the thing to do is to follow them," said the Captain. "Give the signal, bugler!" he called.
Once more the clear notes rang out, and the party started off after theYaquis.
Nort and Dick, riding beside Bud, toward the rear of the cavalcade, looked down to see what the "sign" consisted of. Aside from some hoof marks in the earth they saw nothing.
"They might have been made by our own ponies," observed Nort.
"Yes, but they weren't," Bud declared.
"How can they tell?" asked Dick.
"Oh, I don't know exactly, but there are dozens of little points that an Indian trailer looks for," Bud answered. "He can tell whether the horses trotted or walked. He can tell whether the man who rode him was a tenderfoot or a cowpuncher. And of course it's easy enough to tell in which direction a horse is going."
"Unless they put the shoes on backwards," said Nort.
"There isn't much of that done," said Bud. "And, as a matter of fact, as you know, they don't shoe many horses out here. They let 'em run barefoot. Anyhow, it looks as though we really were on the trail of the Yaquis at last."
"I hope so!" agreed Nort and Dick.
While the boy ranchers and their friends from Diamond X had joined forces with Uncle Sam's troopers and were warm on the trail of the Yaquis, the squalid, degenerate and vicious band that had captured Rosemary and Floyd still retained possession of their captives. Though disheartened and apprehensive, Rosemary and her brother had made up their minds to one thing—they would not be separated—come what might.
For his sister's sake Floyd had firmly decided that if they attempted to take Rosemary off by herself he would, at any cost, make an effort to follow, even if it resulted in his death at the hands of the Indians.
As for Rosemary, she had but one thought—to remain near her brother at any cost. And as she had so far managed to conceal from the Yaquis the fact that she possessed her efficient automatic, and a supply of ammunition, she felt a sense of security that otherwise would not have been with her. She, too, resolved on desperate measures before she would let them separate her and Floyd.
So when Mike, as the one who carried out the orders of his villainous chief Paz, tried to take Rosemary off by herself, probably to break her spirit and induce her to send a letter to her friends asking that ransom money be forwarded—when Mike tried to do this he received one of the surprises of his miserable life as he found himself looking into the muzzle of Rosemary's gun.
"Ugh!" grunted the Indian.
"I don't know exactly what that means," said Rosemary coolly, as she held the gun with steady hand so that it "covered" Mike, "but my brother and I are going to stay together. If you try to separate us I'll shoot as many of you as I can, and I'm a pretty good shot," she added grimly. "Then I'll shoot myself and him before I'll let you try any of your tricks on us!"
She spoke with such fierce earnestness that, though all of her words may not have been intelligible to her captors, they at least understood her intent.
Paz gave a grunt, half of admiration and half of anger at this unexpected change in his plans. Rosemary suddenly wheeled, facing him. She swung her weapon to cover the evil rascal.
There was a spurt of flame, a puff of smoke and before the crack of the report snapped out the dirty, greasy hat of Paz went spinning from his head.
A cry of dismay arose from the followers of the Yaqui chief and mingled with his own grunt of rage. With a yell Mike reached for his gun, but with a gesture his chief stopped him, saying something in their own tongue.
It was, undoubtedly, a command to refrain from shooting down the captives, which was the evident intent of Mike. And of course that could easily have been done, for the Yaquis were well armed with rifles and revolvers they had stolen in their raid. They were not the best shots in the world, but an infuriated band of them firing on a weary boy and girl, would have made short work of their lives.
"That wasn't a miss!" said Rosemary with a laugh, as she still held her gun to cover the leader. "I just wanted to shoot off your hat. I could have aimed lower down if I had wanted to. That was just to show you I know how to shoot!"
"Ugh!" grunted Paz, and there was open admiration on his rascally face. He talked rapidly to Mike and some of the latter's companions who had gathered around, and there was no further attempt to take Floyd away from Rosemary.
The latter, however, was on her guard, for she feared they would rush her, and try to take away her weapon, the unexpected display of which, as much as her cleverness in shooting away the hat of Paz, had held the Indians at bay for the necessary reaction to take place.
"Yo' all right!" grunted Paz with another grin, while one of his followers picked up the hat, looking curiously at the bullet hole through it: "Yo' smart gal!"
"Sure did have your nerve with you!" complimented Floyd, as he stood beside his sister. "I wish I had my gun!"
"It's probably just as well you didn't have," she said with a smile—rather a wan and weary one it must be admitted.
"Why?" demanded Floyd. "I'm as good a shot as you are."
"I know it. But in matters of this kind ruffians will stand for more from a girl or woman than they would from a man. If you had drawn a gun they probably would have shot you down without a moment's hesitation. But when I pulled mine it took them off their feet, so to speak."
"I wish it would take off a lot of their ugly heads, and their dirty bodies, too!" grunted Floyd. "Say, Rose, what are we going to do? This is a terrible pickle to be in."
"It's better to be in a pickle, for that's a sort of preservative, Floyd," she joked, though how she had the heart to do this she herself scarcely realized. "As long as they keep us in pickle there's some hope," she went on, with a tired little laugh. "But when they take us out—well, I'll be glad to have my gun," she added grimly.
She still held the weapon, but it was evident that she was not going to be obliged to use it again at once, either for intimidation or actual defence. Paz waved to her to put it away, and she did, slipping it into a pocket of her skirt.
It was a pocket she had had made for just such a purpose as carrying a gun where the ordinary observer would not see it. And if you have ever hunted for a pocket in your mother's or sister's skirt, and given up in disgust, you will understand that the subterfuge of Rosemary was not as simple as at first appears. Of course she realized that if they had been desperately bent on finding her weapon the Yaquis could have taken it from her. But they evidently did not dream that she had one. And, now, when she had given a demonstration of how quickly she could draw and use it, they would be a bit careful of how they approached her.
Floyd's weapon, of course had been taken from him almost at once. He had been taken unawares or this might not have been the case. But it was probably better, under the circumstances, that he had no gun. Or, as Rosemary had said, he might have rashly fired and the answering shots from the Indians might have killed both of the captives.
"Go on!" Paz said to Rosemary, indicating that she and her brother might remain together.
She had brought about what she intended.
The captives were led farther in among the rocks to a sort of natural cave, and there they were left, some food having been tossed down where they could reach it. It was the most primitive sort of a prison, so simple, in fact, that after a while Floyd said:
"What's to hinder us walking away from here, Rosemary? They aren't watching us, and if we pack some of this grub—rotten as it is—maybe we can get away, and reach Diamond X ranch."
"I'm afraid we'd have small chance of that," Rosemary answered wearily. "What I'm in hopes of is that some one will come to the rescue. I'm sure my note will bring us help."
"Yes, butwhen?" asked Floyd, a bit fretfully. "It may be too late. I'm going to see if we can't get away. Stay here and I'll crawl up to the top of the rock and see what the situation is."
"I think you'll find it isn't as easy as it looks," said his sister.
Nor was it. In the first place the climb up the jagged rocks was wearisome, but Floyd managed it. But when he was at the top, and looked over to see if there was a trail of escape, he was unpleasantly surprised by a piece of stone hitting him sharply on the head.
At first he thought it was a fragment of rock dropping from above, perhaps dislodged by his exertions. But there was no rock over his head. He was at the highest peak in that immediate vicinity.
Then the lad's eyes roved about and he saw, sitting in a natural niche of the stone, not far from him, a greasy Indian, who held his hand poised to toss another stone at Floyd.
The Indian grinned and motioned to the captive to go back. Then Floyd understood. This Indian was a sentry, placed on guard to prevent the captives leaving.
"Well?" questioned Rosemary, as Floyd slid back to where she was spreading out some blankets that had been tossed in with their food.
"No go," was the discouraged answer. "They've got us hemmed in."
"We'll just have to wait—that's all," said the girl. "I don't believe they'll do us any real harm now. They probably want money for letting us go. I expect they'll be having us write notes, soon, to Uncle Henry, asking him to forward ten thousand dollars, or some amount like that."
"Ten thousand dollars!" gasped Floyd.
"Mexican!" laughed Rosemary with a joking spirit she did not altogether feel.
Thus left to themselves, in a sort of natural prison of the rocks, a roofless cave, the captives spent the night, rolled in blankets. It was cool without a campfire, but none was allowed them. Sore, stiff and disheartened, Rosemary and Floyd arose soon after the sun was up, and made a pretense at breakfast. They were given some tin cups of black, bitter and muddy coffee, without sugar, but it was most comforting.
"I never tasted anything better!" declared Floyd, draining the last drops.
"Nor I," agreed his sister.
There was a movement among the Indians, and it was evident that they were about to take to the trail again. Rosemary and Floyd wondered how far they would thus be led into the mountains. Surely if a demand for ransom money was to be made it must be made soon.
But then they did not know how far they were from the ranch of their uncle, whom they had set out to visit. They might be going toward it or away from it. They had lost all sense of direction.
Suddenly something seemed to take place down in the main camp of the Indians that indicated a new element in the grim adventure. There were shouts and excited cries—cries of alarm, it was very evident.
"Oh!" cried Rosemary with shining eyes. "Maybe it's a rescue party after us?"
"I hope so!" shouted Floyd.
A moment later Mike, his face showing unmistakable signs of fear, came rushing in, and by signs, and talk in his own tongue, of which Rosemary and Floyd could understand a few words, he indicated that they were to follow him.
Meanwhile the confusion and alarm in the main body of the Yaquis increased.
What had happened?
Though realizing how useless it was to question Mike—useless because she doubted if he understood her, and equally futile because he would not bother to answer her—still Rosemary fired a volley of questions at the Indian.
"If I had my way I'd fire a volley of bullets at him—provided I had them to fire!" growled Floyd. But he had not, and Rosemary did not deem this an occasion to again produce her weapon, which she was keeping as a last resort.
Besides, Mike did not betray any specially hostile intentions. He seemed merely anxious to get Rosemary and Floyd out of their prison pen, so to speak, and on the move.
"But what's it all about?" demanded Rosemary. "What's the excitement, and what's the hurry?"
For that there was excitement and an alarm, and that she and her brother were being urged to hurry was very evident.
"Yes, what is it?" and Floyd added his demand to that of his sister.
"Nosabe!" grunted Mike, that being his way of using his command of Spanish to indicate that he did not know. More likely he did not want to tell. But there was no way of forcing him.
"Oh, we've got to ride those horrid knife-backed ponies!" half groaned Rosemary, as she saw led out for the use of herself and her brother the steeds on which they had been carried thus far into the mountains. "They're so bony I'm afraid their backbones will cut through the saddle."
"They look as though they might," agreed Floyd. "Gee, but I'm dirty and I'd like a shave and this is perfectly rotten altogether!" he completed with a sigh.
"Don't mention such a thing as a bath tub!" wailed Rosemary. "I don't believe these heathen know what water means for washing in."
Certainly the appearances of the Yaquis bore out that assertion. They were dirty, grimy and greasy to a degree—and a high degree at that.
Rosemary wore bloomers under a short skirt, an attire eminently suited to women folk in the west. For Rosemary was a rider of no small ability, more at home in the saddle than on the seat of an auto, and she and Floyd counted on much riding once they reached their uncle's ranch which now, alas, seemed far away.
Thus attired the girl found no difficulty in getting into the saddle, and her ability provoked murmurs of admiration from the Yaquis.
"Oh, if I only had a chance I'd show you how to ride!" declared Rosemary, when she understood that her skill as a horsewoman was being commented on. "Let me set out in the open once, with a good horse under me instead of a specimen of crow-bait, and I'll open your eyes!"
But this was not to be—just yet.
Floyd, too, was a good rider, but his sister had more of a natural knack with ponies, and often bested him in a race. He too, now swung a leg over the saddle and mounted. With Mike in the lead, and several of the Yaquis bringing up in the rear as a guard against a retreat on the part of the captives, they were urged forward out of the rocky defile into which they had come the night before.
Eagerly Rosemary and Floyd looked about them for some indication as to the cause of the sudden excitement, and the movement among the Indians. Anxiously the captives scanned the horizon for a sight of some rescue party, the approach of which might have sent the Indians scurrying for cover. But nothing was to be seen—at least of that nature, though Rosemary and her brother did see something that caused them great surprise.
This was a sight of the main body of the Yaquis, under the leadership of Paz, moving off at a right angle to the main trail, while Mike, evidently in command of the smaller party which guarded the captives, was going on up the mountain slope, farther into the fastnesses of the rugged peaks.
"Say, what's up?" asked Floyd, of his sister.
"Don't know, but it looks as if they had separated. One band going one way and our bunch this way. I don't like it either. I'd rather deal with Paz, ugly as he is, than with this Mike, who is Irish only because we've given him that name," Rosemary answered.
"It is queer," murmured Floyd, as he guided his pony along the difficult trail. "Paz has gone off with the main body of Indians, and left us in charge of these. If I only had a gun we could take a chance and rush them, Rose. There's only about three dozen!"
"Too many for just one gun," she answered.
"But can you guess what the game is?" her brother wanted to know.
"Well that's all I can do—guess. From what went on soon after breakfast I imagine some of the Indians saw, or heard about a party that was on their trail."
"You mean a party from Diamond X?"
"Either that or soldiers."
"That's so! Soldiers!" cried Floyd. "I hadn't thought of them! Of course there are troopers stationed out here at various places. And word of the Yaquis uprising is sure to go to them. Maybe a band of U.S. Regulars is on the way to save us, Rose!"
"I hope so. But we can't count on it. What I do think, though, is that Paz took alarm at something, and he isn't going to chance being found with us on his hands."
"You mean he's passing the buck to Mike here?"
"Something like that. If our friends or Uncle Sam's men round up this bunch of cut throats and find us in their possession it will go hard with them. So Paz isn't taking any chances."
"That may be the explanation," agreed Rosemary. "Anyhow we're being taken farther into the mountains by a small band, and the larger body is sliding off to one side."
"It's a queer thing," said Floyd, as he and his sister rode along side by side, "that these Yaquis didn't turn back into Mexico, and take us across the border instead of rushing us into the United States."
"Maybe they were afraid to cross the border, which is pretty sure to be better guarded than usual, after this outbreak," Rosemary said. "Or maybe the Yaquis didn't want to share spoils with any of their friends on their own side of the fence."
"That's so!" agreed Floyd. "And now that there's a chance of ransom money—or these beggars think there is—I reckon they're less anxious than before to whack it up.
"That's it! They're taking us as far off as they can to keep the cash among themselves, and, meanwhile, Paz leads the main body away from us."
"But what that move means I'd like to know," mused Rosemary.
It was rather a puzzle to her and her brother. All they were sure of was what they saw—that the Yaquis had separated, most of them following Paz, while the captives were left in charge of the villainous Mike and his selected followers.
Rosemary slipped her hand into her pocket to feel the handle of her automatic.
The discovery of the Indian trail, and the unmistakable evidence that the marks had been left by a band of Yaquis, was the most encouraging news the boy ranchers and their friends had received since starting out to rescue Rosemary and Floyd. It was a fortunate meeting with the U.S. Troopers.
"Only for that," observed Bud, as he rode along with his cousins, "we'd have been way off. We were headed just in the opposite direction when we took to cover thinking the Yaquis were coming after us."
"Yes, and the longer we traveled the farther off we'd be," agreed Nort."It's lucky all around."
"It'll be luckier when we come up to this band of Greasers and takeRosemary and Floyd away," declared Dick.
"Just think!" exulted Nort. "We'll soon be taking part in a real Indian fight! I didn't think there could be such a thing outside of a novel."
"Are these Yaquis real Indians?" asked Dick. "They don't impress me that way. Seems more like fighting some low down colored men."
"I wouldn't insult a decent negro by comparing him to an Indian of the present Yaquis tribe," laughed Bud. "They aren't at all alike. But the Yaquis are real Indians of one of the Mexican races—a race that was once among the best. Of course, even then, they weren't like our American Indians."
"I guess I'm looking for tomahawks and scalping knives and listening for warwhoops!" admitted Dick. "I have an Indian stone pipe home, with a long flat stem, made of a piece of oak, with designs burned in it. Around one end are wound some red and blue beads, and the stem has some old faded ribbons tied to it. Have the Yaquis anything like that?" he asked Bud.
"Not that I know of. The present generation smoke cigarettes when they can get 'em, something no self-respecting American Indian would dream of. Maybe the Yaquis have some such ceremony as smoking the peace pipe, but I don't know about it. I never saw any of their stone pipes. I know the kind you mean, Dick. The pipe part is hollowed out with a small hole—hardly holds enough tobacco for a good smoke, I'd say, though I never tried it."
"That's the kind," Dick said. "Well, to my mind, these Yaquis aren't half so—so—well, you know what I mean," he concluded, at loss for the right word.
"Picturesque," suggested his brother.
"That's it! They aren't at all the kind of Indians you'd like to read about."
"Rex Beach doesn't think much of 'em," commented Bud. "I read in one of his books where he says the Yaquis are a playful people, and they dearly love to hold up Southern Pacific trains. It's one of their favorite sports and pastimes."
"Do you really think they do?" asked Dick. "If they're train robbers they have more gumption than I thought."
"Well, I don't know," admitted Bud. "Rex Beach writes good stuff, and has some corking movies out, but maybe he was joking when he spoke of the Yaquis. Anyhow we know what they've done to our friends, and it's up to us to pay 'em back!"
"You said a hollow-toothful that time, kid!" declared Rolling Stone, as he cantered up ahead to take part in a consultation, caused when a new "sign" was discovered.
The discovery of new marks in the soil—marks left by the passing along of some Indians—was deemed of enough importance to call a halt, while those most familiar in the interpretation of such mystic evidences, made certain what they indicated.
In this discussion the boy ranchers could have no part for they were not at all versed in the meaning of what was quite plain to Rolling Stone, some of the trooper scouts and a few of the cowboys.
"We'll eat as long as we had to stop," decided Captain Marshall, when it was made known to him that some of the scouts wanted to scurry about in a circle, and ascertain if there were any more evidences that would help solve many vital questions.
The troopers had come out well rationed—much better so, in fact than had our friends, and the soldiers extended an invitation to their comrade in arms to partake of "grub," an invitation that was quickly accepted. For the American soldier is the best fed of any in the world.
In the midst of the meal word was sent back to have Buck Tooth, the old Indian in the service of Bud, to come out to where the trooper scouts and cowboys were having a consultation.
"Buck Tooth can tell 'em what's what," declared Bud. "He claims to be a Yaqui, though since these imps have pulled off this stunt I think I'll get Buck Tooth to change his tribe. But he can read Indian sign all right."
This was evidently so for, a little later, exultant shouts on the part of the trooper scouts and the cowboys announced that something new had been found. And it was Buck Tooth's discovery as the boy ranchers learned soon.
The old Indian had carefully studied the trail, and then, going off to one side, had hunted about until he found what he was in evident search of—another trail, leading in the opposite direction from that our friends had been following.
"Yaquis come 'long here—go up to mountain, then come back 'gin, same way like, then go like so," and Buck Tooth held out his arm stiffly, extending two fingers of his hand wide apart like a fork.
"I see what he means!" exclaimed Snake Purdee. "They doubled on their track for part of the way back, and then branched off from the trail, thinking to fool us. But they didn't."
"It looks that way," agreed Lieutenant Snow. "This trail Buck Tooth discovered is much the fresher. We ought to follow that."
And this they did, after a hasty meal.
Once more they were after the Yaquis, and late that night one of the scouts in the lead car riding back at full speed with the news:
"They're right ahead of us!"
"Wow!" yelled Bud.
"Hurray!" shouted Dick.
"Get ready for the fight!" cried Nort.
"Wait a minute now, boys!" advised Snake. "You may have a proper part in the fracas, but remember we're with the United States troops, and under the leadership of Captain Marshall. We must do as he says."
"Oh, I guess the Captain will give the boys a chance," said LieutenantSnow with a smile, as he gave an order to the buglar.
The stragglers rode in, the troops were quickly formed for immediate action, and other scouts were sent out to report on the location and disposition of the Yaquis, which were about three miles in advance, the first scout said.
"Did you see anything of Rosemary or Floyd?" asked Bud anxiously.
"No. I wasn't close enough for that. But the beggars are legging it for all they're worth!"
"Then let's get after them!" cried the Captain. "We don't want them to get away!"
The pace had not been fast, so the horses were comparatively fresh, and they were now urged into a trot, while skirmishers were sent on ahead to receive the first reports of the advanced scouts.
Suddenly, as the sun was beginning to dip below the horizon, some of the scouts came riding back, pointing down into a small, rocky valley, while the foremost yelled:
"They're making a stand down there!"
"Come on!" cried Captain Marshall, and, a few minutes later the fight against the Yaquis began.
The boy ranchers—at least two of them,—were much disappointed at the manner in which this fight against the Yaquis started. And I think I need not say that the two I mean were Dick and Nort. Bud, while he had never before taken part in a fight against Indians, did not expect so much of the romantically picturesque and so was not so disappointed.
But like most healthy lads Nort and Dick, in their early days, had read many books about the west, stories of adventures among the cowboys, miners and Indians—especially the latter. And all the stories had to do with the dashing manner in which the redmen fought, when they fought in the open. Of course, when they had the chance, the Indians preferred to sneak up on their victims and take them unawares. It was easier than standing up against gunfire.
But when the Indians had fought there was a dash and spirit about their attack that made the blood run faster in the veins. The redmen would begin circling about the band they were to attack, riding their ponies faster and faster as they approached, leaning over on the far side, to bring the animal's body between themselves and the hail of bullets. Then the doughty Indian, hanging to his saddle blanket by one moccasined foot would fire from under his pony's neck, dashing away in time to escape the white man's bullet.
That was warfare to make any real lad wish to toss aside his school books and hike for the great WEST!
And it was by anticipating such scenes as this that Nort and Dick were disappointed. But, in a way they had been prepared for it by seeing what manner of Indians the Yaquis were. No warpaint, no feathered headdresses, no necklaces of bears' claws, and of course no bows and arrows.
It must be admitted that the stories on which Nort and Dick had fed their imaginations were true enough about the time they were written. But the romantic Indians died off, or were confined on reservations, and those who occasionally sneaked over the border from Mexico, to make raids by which they gathered in cattle, ponies and weapons, were not of this class.
"It's like making an attack on a bunch of Greasers!" declared Nort, in some disgust, as the fight opened.
But just then a bullet sang uncomfortably close to his head, and as he ducked down—too late of course had the shot been true—Bud laughed and said:
"Don't lose sight of the fact that they can shoot!"
Indeed the Yaquis, thus forced to make a stand and fight, were not going to give up easily. The soldiers, the outfit from Diamond X and the boy ranchers were to have no easy time of it.
It was inspiring to witness the manner in which the troopers went about the business of rounding up the renegade Yaquis. At the first intimation that there was to be serious fighting, when the band had gotten close enough for effective work, the horses were sent back to be out of danger from the bullets. The animals belonging to Bud, Nort, Dick and their friends were taken in charge by some of the troopers. For it was vitally necessary that means of retreat or of advance be preserved. And of course there was no thought of retreat on the part of our friends.
Buck Tooth, the old Indian, slid from his pony with a sigh of relief. He did not care for riding. He liked an automobile, but he was too fat to sit in comfort on a rangy cow pony.
"Keep head down!" he advised Nort, as he saw the lad apparently duck a bullet.
"Guess that's good advice," admitted the lad with a sharp intaking of his breath.