"A CRIPPLED Yaqui! Why the hell did you saddle yourself with him?"
roared Belding, as he laid Gale upon the bed.
Belding had grown hard these late, violent weeks.
"Because I chose," whispered Gale, in reply. "Go after him--he dropped
in the trail--across the river--near the first big saguaro."
Belding began to swear as he fumbled with matches and the lamp; but as
the light flared up he stopped short in the middle of a word.
"You said you weren't hurt?" he demanded, in sharp anxiety, as he bent
over Gale.
"I'm only--all in.... Will you go--or send some one--for the Yaqui?"
"Sure, Dick, sure," Belding replied, in softer tones. Then he stalked
out; his heels rang on the flagstones; he opened a door and called:
"Mother--girls, here's Dick back. He's done up.... Now--no, no, he's
not hurt or in bad shape. You women!... Do what you can to make him
comfortable. I've got a little job on hand."
There were quick replies that Gale's dulling ears did not distinguish.
Then it seemed Mrs. Belding was beside his bed, her presence so cool
and soothing and helpful, and Mercedes and Nell, wide-eyed and
white-faced, were fluttering around him. He drank thirstily, but
refused food. He wanted rest. And with their faces drifting away in a
kind of haze, with the feeling of gentle hands about him, he lost
consciousness.
He slept twenty hours. Then he arose, thirsty, hungry, lame, overworn,
and presently went in search of Belding and the business of the day.
"Your Yaqui was near dead, but guess we'll pull him through," said
Belding. "Dick, the other day that Indian came here by rail and foot
and Lord only knows how else, all the way from New Orleans! He spoke
English better than most Indians, and I know a little Yaqui. I got
some of his story and guessed the rest. The Mexican government is
trying to root out the Yaquis. A year ago his tribe was taken in
chains to a Mexican port on the Gulf. The fathers, mothers, children,
were separated and put in ships bound for Yucatan. There they were
made slaves on the great henequen plantations. They were driven,
beaten, starved. Each slave had for a day's rations a hunk of sour
dough, no more. Yucatan is low, marshy, damp, hot. The Yaquis were
bred on the high, dry Sonoran plateau, where the air is like a knife.
They dropped dead in the henequen fields, and their places were taken
by more. You see, the Mexicans won't kill outright in their war of
extermination of the Yaquis. They get use out of them. It's a
horrible thing.... Well, this Yaqui you brought in escaped from his
captors, got aboard ship, and eventually reached New Orleans. Somehow
he traveled way out here. I gave him a bag of food, and he went off
with a Papago Indian. He was a sick man then. And he must have fallen
foul of some Greasers."
Gale told of his experience at Papago Well.
"That raider who tried to grind the Yaqui under a horse's hoofs--he was
a hyena!" concluded Gale, shuddering. "I've seen some blood spilled
and some hard sights, but that inhuman devil took my nerve. Why, as I
told you, Belding, I missed a shot at him--not twenty paces!"
"Dick, in cases like that the sooner you clean up the bunch the
better," said Belding, grimly. "As for hard sights--wait till you've
seen a Yaqui do up a Mexican. Bar none, that is the limit! It's blood
lust, a racial hate, deep as life, and terrible. The Spaniards crushed
the Aztecs four or five hundred years ago. That hate has had time to
grow as deep as a cactus root. The Yaquis are mountain Aztecs.
Personally, I think they are noble and intelligent, and if let alone
would be peaceable and industrious. I like the few I've known. But
they are a doomed race. Have you any idea what ailed this Yaqui before
the raider got in his work?"
"No, I haven't. I noticed the Indian seemed in bad shape; but I
couldn't tell what was the matter with him."
"Well, my idea is another personal one. Maybe it's off color. I think
that Yaqui was, or is, for that matter, dying of a broken heart. All
he wanted was to get back to his mountains and die. There are no Yaquis
left in that part of Sonora he was bound for."
"He had a strange look in his eyes," said Gale, thoughtfully.
"Yes, I noticed that. But all Yaquis have a wild look. Dick, if I'm
not mistaken, this fellow was a chief. It was a waste of strength, a
needless risk for you to save him, pack him back here. But, damn the
whole Greaser outfit generally, I'm glad you did!"
Gale remembered then to speak of his concern for Ladd.
"Laddy didn't go out to meet you," replied Belding. "I knew you were
due in any day, and, as there's been trouble between here and Casita, I
sent him that way. Since you've been out our friend Carter lost a
bunch of horses and a few steers. Did you get a good look at the
horses those raiders had at Papago Well?"
Dick had learned, since he had become a ranger, to see everything with
keen, sure, photographic eye; and, being put to the test so often
required of him, he described the horses as a dark-colored drove,
mostly bays and blacks, with one spotted sorrel.
"Some of Carter's--sure as you're born!" exclaimed Belding. "His bunch
has been split up, divided among several bands of raiders. He has a
grass ranch up here in Three Mile Arroyo. It's a good long ride in U.
S. territory from the border."
"Those horses I saw will go home, don't you think?" asked Dick.
"Sure. They can't be caught or stopped."
"Well, what shall I do now?"
"Stay here and rest," bluntly replied Belding. "You need it. Let the
women fuss over you--doctor you a little. When Jim gets back from
Sonoyta I'll know more about what we ought to do. By Lord! it seems
our job now isn't keeping Japs and Chinks out of the U. S. It's keeping
our property from going into Mexico."
"Are there any letters for me?" asked Gale.
"Letters! Say, my boy, it'd take something pretty important to get me
or any man here back Casita way. If the town is safe these days the
road isn't. It's a month now since any one went to Casita."
Gale had received several letters from his sister Elsie, the last of
which he had not answered. There had not been much opportunity for
writing on his infrequent returns to Forlorn River; and, besides, Elsie
had written that her father had stormed over what he considered Dick's
falling into wild and evil ways.
"Time flies," said Dick. "George Thorne will be free before long, and
he'll be coming out. I wonder if he'll stay here or try to take
Mercedes away?"
"Well, he'll stay right here in Forlorn River, if I have any say,"
replied Belding. "I'd like to know how he'd ever get that Spanish girl
out of the country now, with all the trails overrun by rebels and
raiders. It'd be hard to disguise her. Say, Dick, maybe we can get
Thorne to stay here. You know, since you've discovered the possibility
of a big water supply, I've had dreams of a future for Forlorn
River.... If only this war was over! Dick, that's what it
is--war--scattered war along the northern border of Mexico from gulf to
gulf. What if it isn't our war? We're on the fringe. No, we can't
develop Forlorn River until there's peace."
The discovery that Belding alluded to was one that might very well lead
to the making of a wonderful and agricultural district of Altar Valley.
While in college Dick Gale had studied engineering, but he had not set
the scientific world afire with his brilliance. Nor after leaving
college had he been able to satisfy his father that he could hold a
job. Nevertheless, his smattering of engineering skill bore fruit in
the last place on earth where anything might have been expected of
it--in the desert. Gale had always wondered about the source of
Forlorn River. No white man or Mexican, or, so far as known, no
Indian, had climbed those mighty broken steps of rock called No Name
Mountains, from which Forlorn River was supposed to come. Gale had
discovered a long, narrow, rock-bottomed and rock-walled gulch that
could be dammed at the lower end by the dynamiting of leaning cliffs
above. An inexhaustible supply of water could be stored there.
Furthermore, he had worked out an irrigation plan to bring the water
down for mining uses, and to make a paradise out of that part of Altar
Valley which lay in the United States. Belding claimed there was gold
in the arroyos, gold in the gulches, not in quantities to make a
prospector rejoice, but enough to work for. And the soil on the higher
levels of Altar Valley needed only water to make it grow anything the
year round. Gale, too, had come to have dreams of a future for Forlorn
River.
On the afternoon of the following day Ladd unexpectedly appeared
leading a lame and lathered horse into the yard. Belding and Gale, who
were at work at the forge, looked up and were surprised out of speech.
The legs of the horse were raw and red, and he seemed about to drop.
Ladd's sombrero was missing; he wore a bloody scarf round his head;
sweat and blood and dust had formed a crust on his face; little streams
of powdery dust slid from him; and the lower half of his scarred chaps
were full of broken white thorns.
"Howdy, boys," he drawled. "I shore am glad to see you all."
"Where'n hell's your hat?" demanded Belding, furiously. It was a
ridiculous greeting. But Belding's words signified little. The dark
shade of worry and solicitude crossing his face told more than his
black amaze.
The ranger stopped unbuckling the saddle girths, and, looking at
Belding, broke into his slow, cool laugh.
"Tom, you recollect that whopper of a saguaro up here where Carter's
trail branches off the main trail to Casita? Well, I climbed it an'
left my hat on top for a woodpecker's nest."
"You've been running--fighting?" queried Belding, as if Ladd had not
spoken at all.
"I reckon it'll dawn on you after a while," replied Ladd, slipping the
saddle.
"Laddy, go in the house to the women," said Belding. "I'll tend to
your horse."
"Shore, Tom, in a minute. I've been down the road. An' I found hoss
tracks an' steer tracks goin' across the line. But I seen no sign of
raiders till this mornin'. Slept at Carter's last night. That raid the
other day cleaned him out. He's shootin' mad. Well, this mornin' I
rode plumb into a bunch of Carter's hosses, runnin' wild for home.
Some Greasers were tryin' to head them round an' chase them back across
the line. I rode in between an' made matters embarrassin'. Carter's
hosses got away. Then me an' the Greasers had a little game of hide
an' seek in the cactus. I was on the wrong side, an' had to break
through their line to head toward home. We run some. But I had a
closer call than I'm stuck on havin'."
"Laddy, you wouldn't have any such close calls if you'd ride one of my
horses," expostulated Belding. "This broncho of yours can run, and
Lord knows he's game. But you want a big, strong horse, Mexican bred,
with cactus in his blood. Take one of the bunch--Bull, White Woman,
Blanco Jose."
"I had a big, fast horse a while back, but I lost him," said Ladd.
"This bronch ain't so bad. Shore Bull an' that white devil with his
Greaser name--they could run down my bronch, kill him in a mile of
cactus. But, somehow, Tom, I can't make up my mind to take one of them
grand white hosses. Shore I reckon I'm kinda soft. An' mebbe I'd
better take one before the raiders clean up Forlorn River."
Belding cursed low and deep in his throat, and the sound resembled
muttering thunder. The shade of anxiety on his face changed to one of
dark gloom and passion. Next to his wife and daughter there was
nothing so dear to him as those white horses. His father and
grandfather--all his progenitors of whom he had trace--had been lovers
of horses. It was in Belding's blood.
"Laddy, before it's too late can't I get the whites away from the
border?"
"Mebbe it ain't too late; but where can we take them?"
"To San Felipe?"
"No. We've more chance to hold them here."
"To Casita and the railroad?"
"Afraid to risk gettin' there. An' the town's full of rebels who need
hosses."
"Then straight north?"
"Shore man, you're crazy. Ther's no water, no grass for a hundred
miles. I'll tell you, Tom, the safest plan would be to take the white
bunch south into Sonora, into some wild mountain valley. Keep them
there till the raiders have traveled on back east. Pretty soon there
won't be any rich pickin' left for these Greasers. An' then they'll
ride on to new ranges."
"Laddy, I don't know the trails into Sonora. An' I can't trust a
Mexican or a Papago. Between you and me, I'm afraid of this Indian who
herds for me."
"I reckon we'd better stick here, Tom.... Dick, it's some good to see
you again. But you seem kinda quiet. Shore you get quieter all the
time. Did you see any sign of Jim out Sonoyta way?"
Then Belding led the lame horse toward the watering-trough, while the
two rangers went toward the house, Dick was telling Ladd about the
affair at Papago Well when they turned the corner under the porch.
Nell was sitting in the door. She rose with a little scream and came
flying toward them.
"Now I'll get it," whispered Ladd. "The women'll make a baby of me.
An' shore I can't help myself."
"Oh, Laddy, you've been hurt!" cried Nell, as with white cheeks and
dilating eyes she ran to him and caught his arm.
"Nell, I only run a thorn in my ear."
"Oh, Laddy, don't lie! You've lied before. I know you're hurt. Come
in to mother."
"Shore, Nell, it's only a scratch. My bronch throwed me."
"Laddy, no horse every threw you." The girl's words and accusing eyes
only hurried the ranger on to further duplicity.
"Mebbe I got it when I was ridin' hard under a mesquite, an' a sharp
snag--"
"You've been shot!... Mama, here's Laddy, and he's been shot!.... Oh,
these dreadful days we're having! I can't bear them! Forlorn River
used to be so safe and quiet. Nothing happened. But now! Jim comes
home with a bloody hole in him--then Dick--then Laddy!.... Oh, I'm
afraid some day they'll never come home."
The morning was bright, still, and clear as crystal. The heat waves
had not yet begun to rise from the desert.
A soft gray, white, and green tint perfectly blended lay like a mantle
over mesquite and sand and cactus. The canyons of distant mountain
showed deep and full of lilac haze.
Nell sat perched high upon the topmost bar of the corral gate. Dick
leaned beside her, now with his eyes on her face, now gazing out into
the alfalfa field where Belding's thoroughbreds grazed and pranced and
romped and whistled. Nell watched the horses. She loved them, never
tired of watching them. But her gaze was too consciously averted from
the yearning eyes that tried to meet hers to be altogether natural.
A great fenced field of dark velvety green alfalfa furnished a rich
background for the drove of about twenty white horses. Even without
the horses the field would have presented a striking contrast to the
surrounding hot, glaring blaze of rock and sand. Belding had bred a
hundred or more horses from the original stock he had brought up from
Durango. His particular interest was in the almost unblemished whites,
and these he had given especial care. He made a good deal of money
selling this strain to friends among the ranchers back in Texas. No
mercenary consideration, however, could have made him part with the
great, rangy white horses he had gotten from the Durango breeder. He
called them Blanco Diablo (White Devil), Blanco Sol (White Sun), Blanca
Reina (White Queen), Blanca Mujer (White Woman), and El Gran Toro
Blanco (The Big White Bull). Belding had been laughed at by ranchers
for preserving the sentimental Durango names, and he had been
unmercifully ridiculed by cowboys. But the names had never been
changed.
Blanco Diablo was the only horse in the field that was not free to roam
and graze where he listed. A stake and a halter held him to one
corner, where he was severely let alone by the other horses. He did not
like this isolation. Blanco Diablo was not happy unless he was
running, or fighting a rival. Of the two he would rather fight. If
anything white could resemble a devil, this horse surely did. He had
nothing beautiful about him, yet he drew the gaze and held it. The
look of him suggested discontent, anger, revolt, viciousness. When he
was not grazing or prancing, he held his long, lean head level,
pointing his nose and showing his teeth. Belding's favorite was almost
all the world to him, and he swore Diablo could stand more heat and
thirst and cactus than any other horse he owned, and could run down and
kill any horse in the Southwest. The fact that Ladd did not agree with
Belding on these salient points was a great disappointment, and also a
perpetual source for argument. Ladd and Lash both hated Diablo; and
Dick Gale, after one or two narrow escapes from being brained, had
inclined to the cowboys' side of the question.
El Gran Toro Blanco upheld his name. He was a huge, massive,
thick-flanked stallion, a kingly mate for his full-bodied, glossy
consort, Blanca Reina. The other mare, Blanca Mujer, was dazzling
white, without a spot, perfectly pointed, racy, graceful, elegant, yet
carrying weight and brawn and range that suggested her relation to her
forebears.
The cowboys admitted some of Belding's claims for Diablo, but they gave
loyal and unshakable allegiance to Blanco Sol. As for Dick, he had to
fight himself to keep out of arguments, for he sometimes imagined he
was unreasonable about the horse. Though he could not understand
himself, he knew he loved Sol as a man loved a friend, a brother. Free
of heavy saddle and the clumsy leg shields, Blanco Sol was somehow
all-satisfying to the eyes of the rangers. As long and big as Diablo
was, Sol was longer and bigger. Also, he was higher, more powerful.
He looked more a thing for action--speedier. At a distance the
honorable scars and lumps that marred his muscular legs were not
visible. He grazed aloof from the others, and did not cavort nor
prance; but when he lifted his head to whistle, how wild he appeared,
and proud and splendid! The dazzling whiteness of the desert sun shone
from his coat; he had the fire and spirit of the desert in his noble
head, its strength and power in his gigantic frame.
"Belding swears Sol never beat Diablo," Dick was saying.
"He believes it," replied Nell. "Dad is queer about that horse."
"But Laddy rode Sol once--made him beat Diablo. Jim saw the race."
Nell laughed. "I saw it, too. For that matter, even I have made Sol
put his nose before Dad's favorite."
"I'd like to have seen that. Nell, aren't you ever going to ride with
me?"
"Some day--when it's safe."
"Safe!"
"I--I mean when the raiders have left the border."
"Oh, I'm glad you mean that," said Dick, laughing. "Well, I've often
wondered how Belding ever came to give Blanco Sol to me."
"He was jealous. I think he wanted to get rid of Sol."
"No? Why, Nell, he'd give Laddy or Jim one of the whites any day."
"Would he? Not Devil or Queen or White Woman. Never in this world!
But Dad has lots of fast horses the boys could pick from. Dick, I tell
you Dad wants Blanco Sol to run himself out--lose his speed on the
desert. Dad is just jealous for Diablo."
"Maybe. He surely has strange passion for horses. I think I
understand better than I used to. I owned a couple of racers once.
They were just animals to me, I guess. But Blanco Sol!"
"Do you love him?" asked Nell; and now a warm, blue flash of eyes swept
his face.
"Do I? Well, rather."
"I'm glad. Sol has been finer, a better horse since you owned him. He
loves you, Dick. He's always watching for you. See him raise his head.
That's for you. I know as much about horses as Dad or Laddy any day.
Sol always hated Diablo, and he never had much use for Dad."
Dick looked up at her.
"It'll be--be pretty hard to leave Sol--when I go away."
Nell sat perfectly still.
"Go away?" she asked, presently, with just the faintest tremor in her
voice.
"Yes. Sometimes when I get blue--as I am to-day--I think I'll go. But,
in sober truth, Nell, it's not likely that I'll spend all my life here."
There was no answer to this. Dick put his hand softly over hers; and,
despite her half-hearted struggle to free it, he held on.
"Nell!"
Her color fled. He saw her lips part. Then a heavy step on the
gravel, a cheerful, complaining voice interrupted him, and made him
release Nell and draw back. Belding strode into view round the adobe
shed.
"Hey, Dick, that darned Yaqui Indian can't be driven or hired or coaxed
to leave Forlorn River. He's well enough to travel. I offered him
horse, gun, blanket, grub. But no go."
"That's funny," replied Gale, with a smile. "Let him stay--put him to
work."
"It doesn't strike me funny. But I'll tell you what I think. That
poor, homeless, heartbroken Indian has taken a liking to you, Dick.
These desert Yaquis are strange folk. I've heard strange stories about
them. I'd believe 'most anything. And that's how I figure his case.
You saved his life. That sort of thing counts big with any Indian,
even with an Apache. With a Yaqui maybe it's of deep significance.
I've heard a Yaqui say that with his tribe no debt to friend or foe
ever went unpaid. Perhaps that's what ails this fellow."
"Dick, don't laugh," said Nell. "I've noticed the Yaqui. It's
pathetic the way his great gloomy eyes follow you."
"You've made a friend," continued Belding. "A Yaqui could be a real
friend on this desert. If he gets his strength back he'll be of
service to you, don't mistake me. He's welcome here. But you're
responsible for him, and you'll have trouble keeping him from
massacring all the Greasers in Forlorn River."
The probability of a visit from the raiders, and a dash bolder than
usual on the outskirts of a ranch, led Belding to build a new corral.
It was not sightly to the eye, but it was high and exceedingly strong.
The gate was a massive affair, swinging on huge hinges and fastening
with heavy chains and padlocks. On the outside it had been completely
covered with barb wire, which would make it a troublesome thing to work
on in the dark.
At night Belding locked his white horses in this corral. The Papago
herdsman slept in the adobe shed adjoining. Belding did not imagine
that any wooden fence, however substantially built, could keep
determined raiders from breaking it down. They would have to take
time, however, and make considerable noise; and Belding relied on these
facts. Belding did not believe a band of night raiders would hold out
against a hot rifle fire. So he began to make up some of the sleep he
had lost. It was noteworthy, however, that Ladd did not share
Belding's sanguine hopes.
Jim Lash rode in, reporting that all was well out along the line toward
the Sonoyta Oasis. Days passed, and Belding kept his rangers home.
Nothing was heard of raiders at hand. Many of the newcomers, both
American and Mexican, who came with wagons and pack trains from Casita
stated that property and life were cheap back in that rebel-infested
town.
One January morning Dick Gale was awakened by a shrill, menacing cry.
He leaped up bewildered and frightened. He heard Belding's booming
voice answering shouts, and rapid steps on flagstones. But these had
not awakened him. Heavy breaths, almost sobs, seemed at his very door.
In the cold and gray dawn Dick saw something white. Gun in hand, he
bounded across the room. Just outside his door stood Blanco Sol.
It was not unusual for Sol to come poking his head in at Dick's door
during daylight. But now in the early dawn, when he had been locked in
the corral, it meant raiders--no less. Dick called softly to the
snorting horse; and, hurriedly getting into clothes and boots, he went
out with a gun in each hand. Sol was quivering in every muscle. Like
a dog he followed Dick around the house. Hearing shouts in the
direction of the corrals, Gale bent swift steps that way.
He caught up with Jim Lash, who was also leading a white horse.
"Hello, Jim! Guess it's all over but the fireworks," said Dick.
"I cain't say just what has come off," replied Lash. "I've got the
Bull. Found him runnin' in the yard."
They reached the corral to find Belding shaking, roaring like a madman.
The gate was open, the corral was empty. Ladd stooped over the ground,
evidently trying to find tracks.
"I reckon we might jest as well cool off an' wait for daylight,"
suggested Jim.
"Shore. They've flown the coop, you can gamble on that. Tom, where's
the Papago?" said Ladd.
"He's gone, Laddy--gone!"
"Double-crossed us, eh? I see here's a crowbar lyin' by the gatepost.
That Indian fetched it from the forge. It was used to pry out the
bolts an' steeples. Tom, I reckon there wasn't much time lost forcin'
that gate."
Belding, in shirt sleeves and barefooted, roared with rage. He said he
had heard the horses running as he leaped out of bed.
"What woke you?" asked Laddy.
"Sol. He came whistling for Dick. Didn't you hear him before I called
you?"
"Hear him! He came thunderin' right under my window. I jumped up in
bed, an' when he let out that blast Jim lit square in the middle of the
floor, an' I was scared stiff. Dick, seein' it was your room he blew
into, what did you think?"
"I couldn't think. I'm shaking yet, Laddy."
"Boys, I'll bet Sol spilled a few raiders if any got hands on him,"
said Jim. "Now, let's sit down an' wait for daylight. It's my idea
we'll find some of the hosses runnin' loose. Tom, you go an' get some
clothes on. It's freezin' cold. An' don't forget to tell the women
folks we're all right."
Daylight made clear some details of the raid. The cowboys found tracks
of eight raiders coming up from the river bed where their horses had
been left. Evidently the Papago had been false to his trust. His few
personal belongings were gone. Lash was correct in his idea of finding
more horses loose in the fields. The men soon rounded up eleven of the
whites, all more or less frightened, and among the number were Queen
and Blanca Mujer. The raiders had been unable to handle more than one
horse for each man. It was bitter irony of fate that Belding should
lose his favorite, the one horse more dear to him than all the others.
Somewhere out on the trail a raider was fighting the iron-jawed savage
Blanco Diablo.
"I reckon we're some lucky," observed Jim Lash.
"Lucky ain't enough word," replied Ladd. "You see, it was this way.
Some of the raiders piled over the fence while the others worked on the
gate. Mebbe the Papago went inside to pick out the best hosses. But
it didn't work except with Diablo, an' how they ever got him I don't
know. I'd have gambled it'd take all of eight men to steal him. But
Greasers have got us skinned on handlin' hosses."
Belding was unconsolable. He cursed and railed, and finally declared
he was going to trail the raiders.
"Tom, you just ain't agoin' to do nothin' of the kind," said Ladd
coolly.
Belding groaned and bowed his head.
"Laddy, you're right," he replied, presently. "I've got to stand it.
I can't leave the women and my property. But it's sure tough. I'm sore
way down deep, and nothin' but blood would ever satisfy me."
"Leave that to me an' Jim," said Ladd.
"What do you mean to do?" demanded Belding, starting up.
"Shore I don't know yet.... Give me a light for my pipe. An' Dick, go
fetch out your Yaqui."