"Do same like soldiers," went on Buck Tooth.
And, as I have said, the example of the troopers was one to be followed. This was not the first time they had been in Indian fights, and against more worthy foes of the redman type. Each trooper picked out such natural shelter as was available, and then began looking over or around it for a sight of some human target at which to aim.
This sort of warfare would be carried on until there was a chance to rush the Yaquis, when the horses could be brought up for this purpose, or the charge made on foot. The Indians, exercising as great care for their steeds as had the white men, had also sent the ponies to the rear.
The place of the fight was about the middle of a small valley, closed in at either end by broken hills of rock, while rocks and great boulders were scattered over the floor of the vale, thus affording natural shelter for both sides. The rising ground at the rear of each party prevented the chance of a rapid retreat, and it was evident that the fight would go to a "finish."
Just how large the party of Yaquis was could not be told, but CaptainMarshall believed he had more men than were rallied to the support ofPaz, the notorious leader of the Mexicans.
"But I haven't seen Rosemary or Floyd," remarked Nort, as he wormed himself into a hollow place behind a rock, not far from Dick and Bud.
"Well, they are probably back in the rear. That's where they generally keep their captives," explained Dick. "If they see the fight going against them they'll send word back and some party will scoot out with our friends."
"Then we'll have the chasing to do all over again," ruefully observedNort.
"Oh, I guess Captain Marshall knows a trick or two," commented Bud. "Look, he's sending some of his men out now to try and get in the rear of the Yaquis."
Dick and Nort turned to see a detachment of the troopers making their way on hands and knees out among the rocks. Their object was what Bud had stated—to get in the rear of the Indians and not only attack them from that vantage point but also to prevent a retreat with the captives, in case Rosemary and Floyd were at that point.
And now the fight began in earnest.
With each party in a position advantageous to it the first few minutes of attack and defense were marked only by firing that accomplished nothing.
That is to say there was an exchange of bullets, most of which spattered against the rooks, sending up sprays of vicious lead or showers of pulverized stone, but inflicting no dangerous wounds. One of the troopers was temporarily blinded by some of this stone dust getting into his eyes when a bullet struck the rock just over his head, and several others, including Lieutenant Snow, were "creased" by bullets when they exposed an arm or leg. But these were only trifles in the day's adventure.
If the Yaquis were not as romantic, tricky and brave as the old Apaches or Sioux, they were no quitters, and they seemed to be well directed. For after the first scattered firing on their part, they began a fusillade which increased in intensity.
"They aren't saving ammunition," commented Snake, as he drew a quick sight on an exposed head, and had the satisfaction of seeing it drop back out of sight in a manner that told of a hit.
"I guess they know it's a case of shoot or be shot," remarked Yellin'Kid, his tones low, for a wonder.
It must be stated that the troopers and those with them fought under a better system, and were better trained, to say nothing of being better individual marksmen. For this reason the casualties on the side of the Yaquis soon began to mount up. Occasional yells, and the spasmodic leaping up of some "warrior" as he was hit after a careless exposure of limb or body, told that the renegades were paying toll.
On the other hand more than one trooper was hit, two being killed not far from Bud and his cousins.
Nor did our heroes escape. For Nort received a nasty, but not dangerous wound in the left leg, while Dick, incautiously looking from behind his rock, to see the effect of one of his shots, felt a bullet clip the lobe of his right ear, bringing pain and plenty of blood.
At first Bud and Nort thought Dick had been killed, for he fell back with a groan and his neck was stained a bright red, his ear bleeding freely. But after the momentary shock the lad raised himself—still keeping back of his rock, and cried:
"I'm all right. That ear always was too long!"
"Good stuff, kid!" cried one of the troopers. "Here, wind some of this on," and he tossed over a roll of antiseptic bandage.
Minor hurts were thus quickly bound up, and Bud, having received a painful wound in the right hand, had to retire from the fight. He did not actually go to the rear, however, but remained with Nort and Dick, handing them cartridges to reload their weapons.
"Gosh! This is rotten!" bewailed Bud, looking at his bandaged hand. It was dismay not at the nature of the wound, but because he could no longer "pepper" the Yaquis.
And the Indians were being attacked with a vengeance and were being "peppered" to such good advantage that some of them rose up and started to run to the rear. This was the last running they did, however, for the unerring rifles of the troopers picked them off.
And then the strategy of Captain Marshall had its effect. For suddenly the troopers he had sent to attack the rear of the Yaquis opened up a fire and this, being augmented by shots from the main body, soon threw the Indians into such confusion that the end was only a question of minutes.
And it came suddenly. For just as Captain Marshall was preparing to order a charge, Snake gave a yell and shouted:
"The white flag! They're quitting!"
Truly enough, this had happened. On top of one of the jagged rocks, behind which they had conducted the defense that had failed, stood a ragged Yaqui Indian. To and fro, on the end of his gun, he waved not exactly a white flag, but a dirty rag that once might have been white. Objects of this hue did not long remain like the driven snow among the Yaquis.
"Cease firing!" blared the bugle, and the spiteful rattle of the soldiers' guns stopped abruptly.
"Cover the beggar, some of you," ordered Captain Marshall, "and a few of you get ready in case this is a trick and they try a rush. I'll look into this."
"Let me go!" pleaded Lieutenant Snow eagerly. "I can sling their lingo a bit, Captain."
"Very well," assented the commander. "But watch yourself, Mart. I don't trust the devils, though if they try any of their tricks we'll wipe out the whole band. I wish I had a rapid fire gun. We made a mistake coming off without it. But we had to leave in a hurry."
During this brief talk, during which none of the soldiers or cowboys exposed themselves, the figure of the Indian continued to stand in full view and easy shot, waving the flag that told of a desire to surrender.
Or did it? Was it but a trick? That remained to be seen.
Seeing that his men were in readiness for quick work, Captain Marshall, himself holding his carbine where he could easily get at it, signalled to Lieutenant Stone to advance, under the flag of truce, to listen to the capitulation of the Yaquis. A trooper went with the lieutenant, carrying one of the company guidons, which, while not exactly a flag of truce served the purpose well enough. Besides the outfit from the fort and Diamond X were not surrendering.
"Had enough, Yaqui?" asked the lieutenant, as the Indian came down from his perch, and advanced to a point midway between the hidden Mexicans and the equally concealed troopers. In the rear was another band of soldiers, so, if it had been necessary, the Indians could have been withered by a cross fire.
"We stop," grunted the Yaqui.
It was the giving up.
Then followed a talk between the officer and the representative of the Indians. This was not Paz, who probably was too cowardly to trust himself in the open under the guns of his rightful enemies.
"Unconditional surrender, lay down every gun you have, march out and be made prisoners!" was the ultimatum of Lieutenant Snow.
It was the only terms that could be offered the treacherous band that had broken over the border from Mexico.
"And tell 'em," shouted Snake, who, with his friends had understood the import of what was said, "tell the beggar if any harm has come to Rosemary or Floyd, we'll kill every one of the Greasers!"
Lieutenant Snow waved his hand for silence. He listened to something the bearer of the flag of truce had to say, and then the officer announced:
"The captives aren't here!"
"Aren't here!" cried Bud, Nort and Dick together.
"Don't let nim fool you!" shouted Yellin' Kid.
"Order them to march out, unarmed and then we'll search their camp," called Captain Marshall.
Seeing that it would be useless to prolong matters, and knowing his entire band would be wiped out if he continued the fight, now that his rear was attacked, Paz growled out the necessary orders to his followers, and they came out from amid the rocks—that is those who could walk.
They were a sorry-looking lot. Always of a nondescript type, dirty, ragged and greasy, the Yaquis were even worse now, for they had been on the trail for some time, and had taken part in at least two fights. They had had no time to recuperate since making the raid in La Nogalique.
As they filed out, miserably enough, they were passed into a sort of hollow square, formed by the troopers, and there each Indian was searched for a hidden knife or revolver. One or two were found and confiscated amid the snarls of rage on the part of the owners, who, doubtless, meditated treachery.
Paz and his followers having been secured, a guard placed over them, and the wounded of the troopers being cared for as well as possible, search was made of the place where the Yaquis had made their stand. Several dead Indians were found, and some so badly wounded that death was only a question of a short time. These were made as comfortable as possible, for though they were entitled to little consideration while the fight was on, matters were different after the surrender.
"But where can Rosemary and Floyd be?" was the question asked over and over again by the boy ranchers and their friends, when it was seen that the captives were not in the Yaquis camp. At first it was supposed they had been sent to the rear with the Indians who were guarding the ponies. But there was no trace of the youth and his sister who had been carried away.
Then the more sinister thought came.
"Could they have been made away with?"
No one asked this in so many words, but it was in the minds of all, and a careful search was made to disclose if the ground had been recently dug up. Nothing of the sort was found, however, and then the boy ranchers and their friends breathed more easily.
But though the main body of Yaquis had been captured the prisoners were not found. And one of the objects of the rescue party—the main object in fact—was to locate Rosemary and Floyd.
"We've got to get it out of Paz what has happened to them, if we—if we have to torture him!" declared Snake. "Can't you make him talk, Captain?"
"Well, of course we dare not, for the sake of the good name of Uncle Sam's men, resort to torture. But we can try some modern police methods—putting him through the third degree, so to speak."
"That's it!" cried Bud. "Give Paz the third degree!"
Once the prisoners were secured, the wounded attended to and the dead buried, the whole attention of the rescue party was given to locating Rosemary and Floyd. That Paz knew the secret of their disappearance could not be doubted—at least our friends did not doubt.
"Though of course," said Captain Marshall, when preparations were going on for putting Paz through the third degree series of questions, "of course there may have been several bands involved in this raid, and some other body of Yaquis may have taken away the young man and his sister."
"It was Paz, I'm sure of it!" declared Bud.
"He looks guilty!"
Certainly the Yaquis leader looked ugly and mean enough to have perpetrated this deed. But he maintained a scowling silence as he sat on the ground before his captors.
"Now, Paz," began Lieutenant Snow, who acted as interpreter, "you may as well tell the truth first as last, for we're going to get it out of you, if we have to resort to—well, you know what I mean.Sabe?"
"Nosabe!" grunted the Indian.
Then the work began. It was not a pleasant task, and it was only excusable on the plea of dire necessity. The Yaquis were entitled to no mercy.
But through ft all Paz maintained a grim silence. When he did speak it was to deny that he or his followers had even seen Rosemary and Floyd, much less had they kidnapped them for a ransom.
It remained for Buck Tooth to expose the trick. The wily Indian, perhaps knowing the habits of the race he had forsaken, had been prowling about among the sullen prisoners. He openly laughed at them for the plight in which he found them, taunting them as cowards of the first water.
Then, having wrought them up to the desired pitch of anger, Buck Tooth laughed and played a trump card, so to speak. In his own way he told a group of the captives that not only had they been caught, to be sent back to Mexico there to suffer long imprisonment, but the object for which they had risked so much had been snatched from them.
"We have the boy and girl!" boasted Buck Tooth.
This was vehemently denied and then, in a burst of anger, as Buck Tooth insisted this was so, the Yaqui blurted out the truth that Paz was endeavoring to conceal. Rosemary and Floyd had been taken away from the main body by a squad under the leadership of the Indian whom Rosemary had dubbed "Mike."
"Ugh!" grunted Buck Tooth. He had found out what he wanted to know.The trick was discovered.
Paz grunted, with characteristic Indian indifference when the work of the third degree ceased, as Buck Tooth, accompanied by the boy ranchers, waddled up and made known what he had found out.
"So that's what the beggar did!" exclaimed Captain Marshall, when he understood. "He split his forces, and sent the young man and girl farther on up into the mountains. Well, it means another chase!"
"And one not so easy to make," added Snake.
"Why?" asked Bud.
"Well, the trail will be worse, for one thing, and we won't have as many men to help. Got to send a guard back with these," and he waved his hand to indicate the Yaquis who had been made prisoners.
"I'll spare as many of my men as possible," said the captain, "and assoon as I get these imps where they'll be safe for the next few years,I'll have the escort return. They'll want to see this thing through.I'm coming with you."
"Oh, that's good!" exclaimed Nort. It was not that he did not depend on the cowboys from Diamond X, but there was something about the troopers that inspired confidence. The cowboys, too, were glad that they would have some regulars with them.
"And now let's get this story in proper shape," suggested the captain. "Lieutenant Snow, you'll get ready to take as many men as you'll need and herd the rascals back over the border, or at least to La Nogalique. It may be that the United States Marshal there will want to deal with them himself. In case he does that relieves you all the sooner. Get in touch with the fort when you have delivered your prisoners, and there may be orders for you."
"Yes, sir," answered the wounded lieutenant, saluting. He had no thought of quitting though he was painfully hurt.
Then Buck Tooth told what his taunts had forced from the captive Yaquis, and the whole trick was plain to the experienced cowboys and the troopers. Paz, fearing the result of keeping the captives with him, had sent them away when he learned that his pursuers were near.
How he learned that fact was one of the mysteries. How the news traveled, in that wild country, where civilized folk were often at pains to get into communication with each other, will probably never be known. But in some manner Paz had become aware of the closing in on him of the soldiers and the cowboys and he had tried to forestall their vengeance. But he did not reckon on the wiliness of Buck Tooth, whose taunts had caused the truth to be blurted out.
So, while Paz and his renegades were being sent back to pay the penalties for their uprising, Captain Marshall, with some of his picked men, and the band from Diamond X got ready to move forward again. One or two of the cowboys, who had been rather badly hit by bullets, were induced to go back for treatment. An effort made to have Bud do the same was met by a flat refusal.
"I've got one good hand!" the lad declared, holding up his left, "and I can shoot an automatic with that after somebody loads it for me."
"We'll load!" offered Nort and Dick.
So the boy ranchers, like the Three Guardsmen "all for one and one for all," stuck together.
"There's going to be hard work—and danger ahead of us," Snake had said, and Captain Marshall bore him out in this.
"That's what we came for," declared Nort.
"Surest thing you know!" assented his brother, and Bud nodded his assent.
So they moved forward again.
This time they were working toward a more certain object than when they were out scouting around to pick up the trail of the Yaquis.
Now they must make their way back to where the party, with Rosemary andFloyd as prisoners, had separated from the main body.
This was comparatively simple as regards tracing the way Paz and his followers had descended the mountain into the valley of the plain where the last fight and surrender had taken place. But when the trail of Mike and his men was located—then would come the real test.
The way grew more rough as they proceeded back along the route taken by the fleeing main body of Yaquis. It was an ascending trail, over a path that was possible only to the tough western ponies.
Fortunately they had an ample supply of provisions and the water supply was adequate, which was a vital necessity. The only hardship in the way of grub was on the horses, the herbage being scanty at times, so that as much speed as was desired could not be made, detours being necessary in order to come upon fodder for the steeds.
This caused them to spend more time on the route than they desired and each hour of delay made the boy ranchers more and more apprehensive for the safety of their captured cousins. However it could not be helped. Certain precautions must be observed if the band of rescuers was to arrive efficient enough to cope with the Yaquis. Though not a quarter of the original body was now in charge of Rosemary and Floyd, they were picked fighters, so Buck Tooth had learned. And they probably would make a stand in some natural fastness which vantage point would be hard to attack and turn.
Through two long, hot weary days the march of the rescuers was kept up, and they were all glad when night came that they might camp and be at rest.
"But we've struck the branching trail," Bud said to his cousins. "All we have to do now is to keep on until we corner the beggars, and get Rosemary and Floyd away from them."
Bud had sized up the situation correctly, though it remains to be stated that it was easier said than done. By carefully noting the "sign" along the way, the cowboys and soldiers had reached the place where the selected band had ridden away with their captives. And this was the trail now being followed.
There was more than hard work—hard work followed hard work—and there was danger. It had been hard from the very start—from the time the boy ranchers had left after the first wild alarm over the kidnapping of Rosemary and Floyd. They had been keyed up to high tension all the while, and this, in itself, if you have ever experienced it, is wearing. There had been absolutely no time for light enjoyment—none of the humor of the cowboys had a chance to manifest itself.
Aside from an occasional burst into song the way had been grim and weary. There was nothing to lighten it, for over all hung the apprehension that something dreadful would befall Rosemary and her brother.
And that dread was still present.
Even at the very end of the trail it might be found that all their efforts had been in vain, and that the Yaquis, driven into a panic of fear, had ended the lives of their captives.
So there was this nerve-racking pall of gloom hanging over all, and to this was added the hard physical work of keeping to a difficult trail, with danger besetting on every hand.
That there was danger, not the most optimistic of them would have denied. There was danger in urging one's horse up a narrow path overhanging some gorge.
There was danger that some lurking Yaqui, unable to keep up with the main body of Mike's men, might send a bullet into the back of one of the rescuers. Or Mike could have posted a party in ambush at any one of a dozen places along the trail, there to surprise and kill off a number of the vengeful whites following him.
All this made it exceedingly hard for the boy ranchers and their friends, but they were never daunted. On they urged their weary ponies, and the trail was as hard on horseflesh as it was on man and youth.
Still no one complained. Even Bud bore without remark the pain of his wounded hand, and it was a most painful injury. However Captain Marshall had no small skill with what primitive remedies they had with them, and he saved Bud from the necessity of a surgical operation later, as the wound was kept clean, so that it healed from within.
Though once, when it had grown shut, with the possible danger of pus forming within, and had to be opened, poor Bud saw everything getting black before his eyes. And it was only by gritting his teeth, and remembering how, it was said, Indians bit bullets in twain in the excess of their agony before uttering a groan, that the lad prevented himself from fainting under the captain's ministrations.
So night settled down on the second day of their rush forward on the trail of Mike and those he held captive.
"You get to bed and take it easy," Nort said to Bud, when the latter talked of standing guard, after camp had been made.
"That's right," agreed Dick. "There's enough of us without you."
"But I don't want to be a quitter!" Bud said. "And we're so close to Mike and his gang now—or we ought to be—that there may be an attack any hour."
"The Yaquis won't attack at night," declared Rolling Stone. "They're too lazy!"
This, indeed, is characteristic of many Indian tribes, though perhaps the real reason may be based on superstition instead of objection to exertion.
However, Bud allowed himself to be pursuaded to take his ease rolled up in his blankets. There were no tents, and, in fact, none were really needed, for though the nights were cooler than the days, a blanket and a fire made every man comfortable.
So night settled down, the stars came out, the cooling wind blew the smoke of the camp fire here and there and the posted sentries walked their beats, waiting for what might happen.
That they were near to the hiding place of Mike, and, it was hoped, of the captives too, could not be doubted. The trail had become more fresh with every mile traversed.
"He's gone into some cave to hold off as long as possible," was the opinion of Captain Marshall.
Nort and Dick had adjoining posts. They had been selected for the first four hours of duty, from 8 to 12 o'clock, and it was near that last hour when Nort, coming back from having reached the end of his beat, called softly to his brother.
"Did you hear anything?" asked Nort.
"What do you mean?" asked Dick in turn.
"Well, like some one walking. Listen!"
The boy ranchers—only two of them now, for Bud was taking a much-needed rest, stood silent in the darkness, on one edge of the camp. They listened "with all their ears," for they were, if not exactly in the enemy's territory, at least within striking distance of the Yaquis, and every precaution must be taken.
So when Nort whispered to Dick that a suspicious noise had been heard,Dick was only too ready to believe it.
"Where did you hear it?" Dick asked in a cautious voice when, after several seconds of intent listening, neither had caught a sound.
"Off there," replied Nort rather vaguely, pointing to the darkness ahead of them—a darkness where the rays of several camp fires did not penetrate, and which the starlight did not seem to pierce.
"I don't hear anything," went on Dick. "Maybe it was only the wind.We don't want to give an alarm and—"
"Hark!" interrupted his brother in a low but tense voice.
Clearly then, to the ears of both, came the unmistakable sound of someone or something approaching. There was the crunching of gravel, and the noise of some hard substance moving on a rock.
"It's the Yaquis!" whispered Nort, as he brought his rifle to bear on the blackness in front of him. "They're creeping up to make an attack!"
Dick also got his gun in readiness for instant action, and the boys were just about to fire when a noise, best described as "unearthly," smote their ears. It was a long drawn out cry, weird and blood-curdling. That it was the warwhoop of the Yaquis both boys were beginning to believe, in spite of knowing that these Mexicans seldom if ever used such romantic if terrible means of terrifying their enemies.
I say the boys were on the verge of accepting the noise as that, when its character suddenly changed, and the stillness of the night was fairly shattered by a loud:
"Hee-haw! Hee-haw! Hee-haw!"
The reaction was so great that Nort and Dick nearly dropped their guns, and they turned to look one at the other with sheepish grins that would have been visible had the light been stronger. And then, with one voice the brothers exclaimed:
"Maud!"
It was one of the army transport mules, an animal that helped carry the camp baggage! She had strayed.
Again rose the cry, not so weird now that its nature was known.
"Hee-haw! Hee-haw!"
And from the camp came a disgusted complaint from some sleepy trooper as he shouted: "The chump who tied that mule so he could wander ought to be made to go get him!"
There was laughter at this, for many had been awakened by the braying of the animal. And then one of the men in charge of the animals came out and managed to corral the wanderer.
"Gosh! I'm glad we didn't shoot!" exclaimed Nort, as their tour of duty ended and their relief came.
"Same here!" added his brother. "How they would have laughed at us if we had plugged old Maud!"
This was the only disturbing incident of the night, the remainder of which passed quietly.
With the first streak of dawn the troopers were up, as were the cowboys, for Rolling Stone had said, and Buck Tooth agreed with him, that if the Yaquis did attack it would be at dawn, since they seldom fought after nightfall.
But no attack came, and breakfast was served, with sentries on the watch to guard against surprise. Some steaming hot coffee, crisp bacon the odor of which was an aroma in the morning air, flapjacks and sour dough bread for those who wanted it, made the meal, which well fortified those who partook of it for the day's events, which were destined to be strenuous.
Once again the order was:
"Forward—march!"
Again they were on the trail of the Yaquis.
As they advanced the "sign" became more pronounced that the band had passed that way. Whether they had the captives with them could, of course, only be guessed at.
But the trail had been carefully scanned, and there was no evidence that Rosemary and Floyd had been put out of the way. As far as could be told the captives were still the prisoners of the Indians. And there were no marks to show that any smaller body had branched off from this band of Yaquis that had the unfortunate youth and maiden in charge.
So it was with the hope of finding their cousins safe, though perhaps in dire distress, that the boy ranchers pressed on with their friends the troopers and the cowboys.
As the trail became more pronounced, greater precautions were taken against a surprise. And a surprise in the rocky defiles through which they were passing would have been well nigh fatal. So scouts were constantly in the lead, ready at the first suspicious sign to send back word to the main body to be on the alert.
The morning passed without incident, save for one or two false alarms, and there was a sigh of relief when the midday meal was served without interruption in the shape of hostile bullets. Then, after a brief rest for the horses, the march was again taken up.
"I wonder when we'll find them?" asked Nort.
"It's been quite a while now," added Dick.
"Poor Rosemary," sighed Bud, trying to find an easy position for his wounded hand. "She must have had a tough time."
"Yet she had a lot of grit to send that message the way she did," commented Nort.
"Yes, only for that we wouldn't have known about it for a long time—maybe too late," agreed Bud.
It was but a few minutes after this talk that, suddenly, a shot rang out well up ahead. Instantly every nerve tingled for it might mean the beginning of the last fight. The shot was almost at once followed by others, and then a scout came clattering back.
"We've found 'em!" he cried. "And it's going to be a dickens of a fight! They're in a regular fort!"
The firing in front became more brisk. Clearly all the van guard was now engaged, and quick orders were issued to send up a squad or two of the troopers, while the main body prepared for what they hoped would be the last battle.
Captain Marshall rapidly questioned the messenger who had come back. The man told how he and his companions had been riding along when they were suddenly fired upon. The shot came from a ledge at one side of the defile through which the trail ran, and they had a glimpse of a Yaqui warrior shaking his fist at them in defiance as he disappeared amid the rocks after delivering his warning shot.
Then the shooting between the outposts of the Indians and the advance guard of the rescue party became general as the scout rode back to report.
Captain Marshall hurried to the front with his first band of fighters, the cowboys and our youthful heroes being bidden to remain where they were until the officer had made an observation. In a little while Captain Marshall came back.
"It will be their last stand!" he exclaimed.
"How so?" asked Snake.
"Well, they're there with their backs to the wall. They can't get out at the rear and we're here in front to stop them if they come this way. It will be a fight to a finish!"
And as the boy ranchers wondered at the fate of Rosemary and Floyd there came from the front a burst of firing.
Well it was that a body of fighters with the experience of the United States troopers and the cowboys from Diamond X ranch went up against the Yaquis, and not some brave but rash band of rescuers. The latter would have been defeated almost at once for the Indians had picked out an admirable place in which to make their last stand.
They had retreated into the mountains, along a trail that only the most hardy could follow. Then, finding, as they doubtless did, that their pursuers were ever at their heels, they hastened to what was, virtually, a natural fortress—a nook among the rocky walls of the defile. From there they shot at the approaching troopers and cowboys.
"No useless risks!" ordered Captain Marshall, as he and his men came up to the attack.
The Yaquis had several distinct advantages in their favor. They were up above the rescuers and could fire down on them, while the boy ranchers and their friends had not only to fight but to climb up, and the latter was a handicap.
Then the Indians had what was almost like a rocky fort to protect them, while those making the attack had to approach pretty much in the open. Of course there were rocks that could be used as cover, but these were so scattered that it prevented the approach of the men in a body. Individuals could creep from rock to rock, and so advance, but there could be no concerted rush against the Yaquis, and that was what was needed to overcome them.
However the fight was only in its early stages yet, and, like a football game, one could not tell what would happen until the final whistle was blown. Captain Marshall was a veteran fighter and could be depended on. His men realized this, and so did the outfit from Diamond X.
There was nothing very spectacular about this fight. Little of it could have been seen by an observer, if you except the spurts of smoke from unseen guns and the echoes caused by the shots. For each man, on both sides, was firing from cover. The Yaquis had the advantage that their cover—a big wall of rock—sheltered many of them in an almost straight line, and they could fire in volleys on signal, while the soldiers and cowboys had to fire individually and at odd times, as they made their way from one sheltering stone to another.
Thus the Yaquis could concentrate their fire on one man if they had a glimpse of some incautiously exposed arm or leg, while no one soldier could hope to inflict much damage on a crowd of Indians behind a thick stone wall.
But the fight was not so unequal as seemed at first sight. For while the Yaquis were strongly entrenched, they were outnumbered—of that there was little doubt. And they were fighting picked men, who had been in many dangerous skirmishes and fights, whereas the Indians were at best but a sort of brigand bushwhackers.
Each side was desperate, perhaps the Indians more so, for they must have realized that they would be given short shrift if any harm now came to Rosemary and Floyd. The soldiers and cowboys would not hesitate to take swift and sure vengeance. So the Indians must fight to the bitter end, selling their lives as dearly as possible.
"I just wonder if Rosemary and Floyd are up in that nest of beggars?" mused Bud, as he and his cousins were at last allowed to proceed up the defile, toward where the Yaquis were making their last stand. Bud had begged so hard to be allowed to go to the front, to at least help his cousins load their weapons if nothing else, that permission had been granted.
The boy ranchers were close together now, each sheltered behind a rock, and almost in line with the foremost of the attackers who were under the shadow of the natural fort, behind the wall of which the Yaquis were making their last stand.
"I hope they are up there," said Nort, answering Bud's question. "If they brought them this far they probably wouldn't do away with them now. They must be up there!"
"I wish we had them down here," said Dick. "It's going to be hard work to get the imps out of their den!"
"You supplied two good earfuls that time, kid!" said Rolling Stone. "Ah, you will, will you!" he added quickly, and he fired at an exposed head over the top of the wall that hid the Indians.
There was a howl of pain mingled with rage, that could be heard above the din of the fighting.
"You nipped him!" cried Yellin' Kid.
"I tried to," grimly said Rolling Stone.
And so the fighting went on, in pot-shot fashion, with occasional volleys from the Yaquis.
"They're only wasting their lead," spoke Captain Marshall. "But I wonder where they got so many cartridges?"
"Likely they made another raid," suggested Snake.
This, later, was found to be the case. A store keeper had been killed and his stock looted, provisions and arms being taken.
If the boy ranchers and their friends could have looked behind the natural wall of rock, which constituted the fort that proved to be the last stand of the Yaquis, and if they could have looked farther, into a big cave, the mouth of which was concealed from a view below by this same wall, their questions as to Rosemary and Floyd would have been answered.
For the captives were there. Weary, apprehensive, tired and fairly ill from their hardships, Rosemary and her brother had been thrust into the cavern when the Yaquis reached this vantage place, knowing their pursuers were close behind them.
"Something's up!" Floyd had said as they were rudely hustled into the hiding place.
"I hope it's the end," said Rosemary dismally. Poor girl! She was about done up, and she no longer had her weapon as a means of defence. By a ruse it had been taken from her, though she and Floyd fought desperately to retain it. But Mike, as one of his men snatched it away, only laughed at them.
"The end! What do you mean?" asked Floyd.
"I mean I think this will be the last fight. You can tell by the way they thrust us in here, and hurried out with their guns, that something unusual is taking place. I believe our rescuers are coming!"
"That's what we thought when they sent us off in charge of Mike and the smaller gang," observed Floyd.
"Yes, but this is different!" declared Rosemary. "They can't get out of this place in a hurry, and once our friends, whether soldiers or cowboys from Uncle Henry's ranch, get this far, they'll never give up until they break through the Indians."
"If they only do!" murmured Floyd. He was cut and bruised from a fight he had with two of the Yaquis, when he endeavored to go to the aid of his sister, as her weapon was wrested from her. Floyd's left arm was badly wrenched, so he could hardly use it.
And then, after the hurried thrusting into the cave of the captives, had come the first shots of the soldier scouts in response to the fire of the Yaqui sentry.
"They're here!" cried Floyd, when it became very evident that an attack in force was going on.
"Oh! I'm glad!" exclaimed Rosemary, and tears of relief came to sooth her ragged nerves.
They went as close as they dared to the mouth of the cave to look at the backs of the Yaquis who were lined up along the wall firing down on the soldiers and cowboys. No guard was stationed at the entrance to the cavern—none was needed. The rear was a wall of solid rock, as Rosemary and her brother had discovered soon after being rushed into it. In front of the entrance was a rocky platform, and extending along the outer edge of this, in the form of a semicircle, was the defending wall of stone.
This rocky wall dropped abruptly down into the defile where the cowboys and soldiers were making the attack. It would be almost impossible to descend it. The way up was by a narrow passage which was now choked by rocks the Indians had piled there.
On either side of the cavern's entrance the rock rose in steep slopes, not altogether impossible of being scaled, but a hindrance to a quick retreat. That is what Captain Marshall meant when he said the Yaquis were practically backed up against a stone wall.
The firing became sharper and quicker and the reports of the guns of the attackers sounded nearer. They were, in fact, creeping up, taking advantage of every bit of cover.
There were casualties on both sides, Dick being put out of the game by a bullet through his right arm. Fortunately it only entered the flesh, breaking no bones. But he was ordered to the rear, much to his disgust. Nort and Bud still stuck, Bud helping Nort in loading.
Perhaps the situation was hardest on Rosemary and Floyd, for they were obliged to remain in the cave, doing nothing, and fearing the worst. If the Indians succeeded in standing off the rescuers, or in killing so many of them that the survivors would not dare rush the place, what would it mean to the captives?
Rosemary dared not think of it.
Then, following a period of unusually heavy firing, the plucky girl made up her mind to act.
"Floyd!" she exclaimed, "I'm desperate! I'm going to do something!
"Not—you're not going to—"
Floyd stumbled over expressing the fear that she was going to rush out and throw herself over the rocky wall.
"It's just a chance," went on Rosemary, "but I'm going to take it. A desperate chance!"
"But what, Rosemary?"
"I'm going to play a trick on these Indians! I think I can do it!"
"A trick?"
"Yes. As soon as the next period of heavy firing quiets down I'm going to rush out, yelling, and point back to the cave. I want you to do the same."
"But what good will it do?"
"It will give the Indians the impression that our friends—or some one—has managed to get up the rocks, and that they are coming from the rear. There may be an entrance into that cave from the back. I don't know, and I don't believe these Indians do. Anyhow if we rush out, all excited, yelling as hard as we can, and pointing to the cave back of us, I think the Yaquis will take the alarm and become so confused that our friends, whoever they are out there, will be able to rush this position."
As yet, you must understand, Rosemary and her brother were unaware of the identity of the attackers.
Rosemary started up from where she was sitting in their extemporized and miserable prison cave. It was evidently her intention to put into operation at once her desperate plan.
"Wait a minute!" exclaimed her brother.
"What for?" she questioned.
"I'm not so sure that it is the best thing to do," he answered.
Floyd was rather less impulsive than his sister—that is on occasions.There were times when he could be more hot headed.
"Well, what else is there to do?" Rosemary asked.
She was going to be perfectly fair about it, and if Floyd had anything better to offer as a suggestion she would listen to him.
"Let's think about it a bit longer," he finally said, with a long intaking of breath, which told more plainly than words, how the situation was oppressing him. "I'm sure it's mighty plucky of you, Rosemary, to lay out such a plan as this, but I don't believe I ought to let you try it. Something might happen."
"Something is going to happen anyhow," she said, with ominous quiet, and a grim tightness showed in the lines of her mouth. "I believe these Indians have just about reached the end of their rope. They have been very patient with us—that is patient from their standpoint. Now they have met with opposition, and they must know if they are overpowered it will be to our advantage, and that our friends, or whoever is out there firing, will take revenge."
"That's so," agreed Floyd.
"Well then, we've justgotto do something!" said Rosemary, desperately. "And I'm going to do it."
Again she started up.
"Wait a minute!" exclaimed her brother again.
He seemed to be listening. He leaned forward, and then softly arose from where he was sitting and went forward.
"What is it?" asked his sister in a low voice.
"I thought I heard voices—good old United States voices, and not this jargon of Mexican and Spanish," was the reply. "Maybe some of the attackers, whoever they are, have broken through."
A look of delighted joy came over the face of Rosemary. But a moment later it faded away and she seemed hopeless.
"It can't be," she said. "There'd be a lot of yelling and shouting if any of those who are attacking the Yaquis had broken through their lines," she went on. "There's no use waiting, Floyd. Let's try my plan!"
But her brother was not yet convinced.
"It will be all right if it works," he agreed. "But if it fails, and they only have the laugh on us, we'll be treated so much the worse. I don't mind on my own account—but yours!" and he glanced at his sister.
"I hadn't thought of that," spoke Rosemary in a low voice. "If it should—fail—why—"
She did not complete the sentence.
"It would only make them more angry, I'm afraid," went on Floyd.
There was silence, for a time, between brother and sister. It was broken only by occasional and distant shouts, punctuated, now and again, by a shot. But the heavy fusillade had subsided for a time.
"Well?" questioned Rosemary.
She was eager to get some action.
"This is what I'll do," said Floyd, after some tense consideration,"I'll take a look around and see how matters shape up."
"Then what?" asked Rosemary.
She was evidently not going to let the matter go by default.
"Well, then if I can't see anything better to do then what you proposed, we'll go to it!" decided Floyd. "You sit here and I'll scurry around. I won't be long."
"No, please don't," begged Rosemary. "If we're going to do anything we'll have to do it very soon. This can't last—much longer!"
Floyd did not stop to ask his sister just what she meant. In fact he did not dare question her as to what it was that could not last "much longer." He had a desperate fear that it was Rosemary's own spirit that was on the point of breaking.
Up to now she had kept up her courage remarkably well. But there was a limit, and if the breaking point had been reached Floyd did not know what would follow.
He shot a quick look at the girl before he started out on what he thought might be a last desperate venture. He felt that he might discover something to do—some way of escape—that would not make it necessary for his sister to virtually rush into danger.
And he was relieved when he saw the calm and cool look that was onRosemary's face.
"She isn't going to give up!" decided Floyd.
There was an exultant feeling in his heart.
During this talk between brother and sister the dirty Indian detailed to guard the captives had sauntered within view of them every now and then. To quiet his suspicions, in case he should have any, Rosemary and Floyd had spoken most casually on these occasions.
The lad waited until the guard had come on one of his periodic trips of inspection and had dropped out of sight on a ledge of rock, and then Floyd started out.
"Don't be too long!" called Rosemary in a low voice.
"I won't!" he promised.
Walking as aimlessly as he could pretend, Floyd started toward a break in the natural wall that ran in front of the prison cavern. He wanted to see if he could catch a glimpse of the Yaquis below him.
"And I'd give a whole lot of money—if I had it—to see who is fighting them," thought Floyd. "But I haven't much left."
He glanced ruefully down at his now soiled and torn garments. And as he thrust his hands into his pockets he missed many a trinket and possession. For nearly everything had been taken away by Paz, Mike or some of their rascally followers.
Two or three Indians, some of them wounded, were coming back "from the front," so to speak. One of them glanced scowlingly at Floyd, as he passed the lad, evidently associating his wounds with the presence of the prisoner.
"I'd give you a whole lot worse than that if I had a chance—UglyFace!" thought Floyd.
Another member of the renegade band grinned or—Floyd took it for a grin—as he passed. But none of them seemed to care where the lad went or what he did, and for this Floyd was glad.
"I seem to be getting somewhere," he murmured. "Whether I can hit on any scheme to beat Rosemary's is a question, but I don't want her to take the risk unless there's nothing else to do."
He had now reached a low spot in the natural rocky wall. He felt that if he could once get a glimpse at this point he might see something that would help him and Rosemary.
And to his great delight, when he had sauntered, as casually as he could make it, to an observation point, what he saw made him gasp for breath.
For, grouped closely together, below him, on a sort of big table of rock, were a number of the Yaquis. They appeared to be holding a sort of council or parley, and were gathered about an Indian to whom Mike and Paz often delegated certain duties.
But this was not what caused the heart of Floyd to thump so desperately against his ribs, making such a noise, he wildly feared, that the pounding would be heard by some passing Indian.
What caused him fairly to gasp for breath was the sight of a great boulder, poised on the edge of the natural wall, and hanging almost directly over the group of talking Indians.
"If I can push that rock down on them it will do the trick!" thought Floyd. "It'll put some of 'em out of business, and the rest will be so frightened that they'll retreat. Then whoever is out there trying to break through to help us, will have matters their own way. That's what I'll do. Ill pry that rock loose and let it dash 'em on the heads."
It was a horrible thing to think of, much more horrible to do, but the situation of Rosemary and Floyd was desperate indeed. The end seemed to justify the means.
"The point is," mused Floyd, "can I shove that rock down?"
Looking about him he saw that he was not observed. He quickly made his way nearer to the rock, and then, reaching out his hands, he pushed.
Gently at first he exerted the pressure, and then putting more power into the shove he thrust with all his might.
"It's giving! It's giving!" thought Floyd, with a desperate catch of his breath. "I can shove it down on 'em and dash 'em all up!"
He exerted all his strength. The rock was moving, and even with all the villainies the Indians had to their discredit Floyd's nerve almost failed him as he saw the great boulder sway as if for the plunge.
But to his chagrin he felt the rock move back toward him again. He tried to hold it away—to thrust it from him—but nature, in the guise of the attraction of gravitation—pulled the rock back into the socket-shaped bed where it had rested so long.
It rolled back with a grinding sound, and Floyd feared, for a moment that he had loosened it so that it would topple back and fall upon his feet.
But this did not happen. The great half-round stone oscillated to and fro and then came to rest. Floyd had only caused it to sway a little.
"Well, I moved it!" he said with a gasp. "I'll try again. If I can only get it started it will do the trick."
Again he pushed, with all his might, but again the same thing happened. He managed to make the rock sway outward, a little farther over the edge of the wall, but back it came again into its hollow resting place.
Then Floyd understood the nature of the matter.
"It's a balanced rock," he said to himself. "She's been resting here for ages, and you can move it just so far but no farther. It would take a team of army mules to dislodge it."
He looked over the wall again. The Indians were still in the same place, eagerly talking—a score or more of feet below the boy.
"It's too good a chance to miss!" whispered Floyd desperately. "I wonder if I can't find some sort of a lever and pry it loose."
He looked about him. Not far away was part of a dead tree branch, thick as his arm.
"Just what I need!" he exclaimed.
He ran to pick up the branch and, returning with it, set one end under the balanced rock, that was still swaying slightly from his exertions.
"Now for a last try!" murmured the lad.
He bent his weight on the long end of the improvised lever. The rock seemed to rise from its socket bed, and to sway outward. There was an exultation in the boy's heart. He thought, in another instant, that he could send the great stone crashing down into the midst of the Yaquis.
Then, suddenly there came a sharp report, and Floyd felt himself falling.
His first feeling was that he had been shot and that this was the end. But he felt no pain, save a sudden bump as he sprawled on the rocks, and then he realized what had happened.
He had pressed so heavily on the old and dried piece of wood that it had snapped and broken with a report like that of a pistol, and he had dropped.
"Too bad!" murmured Floyd.
As he picked himself up he saw two of the Yaqui Indians running around a rocky corner. They had evidently been drawn to the place by the sound.
"No good letting them know what I tried to do," quickly decided Floyd."It would only make it worse for us."
Having decided on a line of action it did not take the lad an instant to carry it out. Quickly he picked up the broken pieces of his lever and started back with them toward the cave where he and his sister were held captives.
"Make fire!" he said to the Indians. "Make fire—cook grub!"
"Ugh!" they grunted. They evidently accepted this obvious explanation.
Their suspicions lulled, they turned and went back the way they had come, pausing long enough, however, to watch Floyd enter the cave where Rosemary waited.
"Well," she questioned, as he threw the broken ends of his lever on the rocky floor.
"No go," answered Floyd despondently. "I had a peach of a chance to play a trump hand on them, but luck was against me."
He told what he had tried to do with the rock.
"Oh? I—I'm almost glad it didn't succeed!" said Rosemary with a shudder. "It would have been—terrible!"
"Nothing is too bad for these devils!" cried Floyd. "But I give up. I can't think of anything more to do."
"Then shall I try my way?" asked his sister.
"It is a desperate chance," Floyd murmured.
"But don't you think we ought to try it? We may be able to reach the wall, and get over, or go down the trail we came up. It was too steep for the horses, but maybe we can make it."
The horses had been abandoned by the Yaquis as they entrenched themselves for this last stand. The animals could not make the ascent.
"Well?" asked Rosemary of her brother.
"I'm with you!" he said, with a sharp intaking of his breath.
Then they got ready for the ruse Rosemary had proposed.