XI

The plaza at Fortuna, ordinarily so peaceful and sleepy, was alive

with hurrying men when Bud and Phil reached town. Over at the station

a special engine was wheezing and blowing after its heavy run and,

from the train of commandeered ore-cars behind, a swarm of soldiers

were leaping to the ground. On the porch of the hotel Don Juan de Dios

Brachamonte was making violent signals with his hands, and as they rode

up he hurried out to meet them.

"My gracious, boys," he cried, "it's a good thing you came into town!

Bernardo Bravo has come over the mountains and he's marching to take

Moctezuma!"

"Why, that doesn't make any difference to us!" answered Phil.

"Moctezuma is eighty miles from here--and look at all the soldiers. How

many men has Bernardo got?"

"Well, that I do not know," responded Don Juan; "some say more and

some less, but if you boys hadn't come in I would have sent a man to

fetch you. Just as soon as a revolution begins the back country becomes

unsafe for Americans. Some of these low characters are likely to murder

you if they think you have any money."

"Well, we haven't," put in Bud; "but we've got a mine--and we're going

to keep it, too."

"Aw, Bernardo Bravo hasn't got any men!" scoffed Phil. "I bet this is

a false alarm. He got whipped out of his boots over in Chihauhua last

fall, and he's been up in the Sierra Madres ever since. Probably come

down to steal a little beef.

"Why, Don Juan, Bud and I lived right next to a trail all last year

and if we'd listened to one-tenth of the _revoltoso_ stories we heard

we wouldn't have taken out an ounce of gold. I'm going to get my

denouncement papers to-morrow, and I'll bet you we work that mine all

summer and never know the difference. These rebels won't hurt you any,

anyhow!"

"No! Only beg a little grub!" added Bud scornfully. "Come on, Phil;

let's go over and look at the soldiers--it's that bunch of Yaquis we

saw up at Agua Negra."

They tied their horses to the rack and, leaving the solicitous Don Juan

to sputter, hurried over to the yard. From the heavy metal ore-cars,

each a rolling fortress in itself, the last of the active Yaquis

were helping out their women and pet dogs, while the rest, talking

and laughing in high spirits, were strung out along the track in a

perfunctory line.

If the few officers in command had ever attempted to teach them

military discipline, the result was not apparent in the line they

formed; but any man who looked at their swarthy faces, the hawklike

profiles, and deep-set, steady eyes, would know that they were

fighters.

After all, a straight line on parade has very little to do with actual

warfare, and these men had proved their worth under fire.

To be sure, it was the fire of Mexican guns, and perhaps that was why

the officers were so quiet and unassertive; for every one of these big,

upstanding Indians had been captured in the Yaqui wars and deported to

the henequen fields of Yucatan to die in the miasma and heat.

But they had come from a hardy breed and the whirligig of fortune was

flying fast--Madero defeated Porfirio Diaz; fresh revolutions broke out

against the victor, and, looking about in desperation for soldiers to

fill his ranks, Madero fell upon the Yaquis.

Trained warriors for generations, of a race so fierce that the

ancient Aztecs had been turned aside by them in their empire-founding

migration, they were the very men to whip back the rebels, if he could

but win them to his side.

So Madero had approached Chief Bule, whom Diaz had taken under a flag

of truce, and soon the agreement was made. In return for faithful

service, Mexico would give back to the Indians the one thing they had

been fighting a hundred and sixty years to attain, their land along the

Rio Yaqui; and there they should be permitted to live in peace as their

ancestors had done before them.

And so, with a thousand or more of his men, the crafty old war-chief

had taken service in the Federal army, though his mind, poisoned

perhaps by the treachery he had suffered, was not entirely free from

guile.

"It is the desire of the Yaquis," he had said, when rebuked for serving

under the hated flag of Mexico, "to kill Mexicans, And," he added

grimly, "the Federals at this time seem best able to give us guns for

that purpose."

But it had been a year now since Bule had passed his word and, though

they had battled valiantly, their land had not been given back to

them. The wild Yaquis, the irreconcilables who never came down from

the hills, had gone on the war-path again, but Bule and his men still

served.

Only in two things did they disobey their officers--they would not

stack their arms, and they would not retreat while there were still

more Mexicans to be killed. Otherwise they were very good soldiers.

But now, after the long campaign in Chihuahua and a winter of idleness

at Agua Negra, they were marching south toward their native land and,

in spite of the stern glances of their leaders, they burst forth in

weird Yaqui songs which, if their words had been known, might easily

have caused their Mexican officers some slight uneasiness.

It was, in fact, only a question of days, months, or years until the

entire Yaqui contingent would desert, taking their arms and ammunition

with them.

"Gee! what a bunch of men!" exclaimed Bud, as he stood off and admired

their stark forms.

"There's some genuine fighters for you," he observed to Phil; and a

giant Yaqui, standing near, returned his praise with a smile.

"W'y, hello there, Amigo!" hailed Bud, jerking his head in a friendly

salute. "That's a feller I was making signs to up in Agua Negra," he

explained. "Dogged if I ain't stuck on these Yaquis--they're all men,

believe me!"

"Good workers, all right," conceded De Lancey, "but I'd hate to have

'em get after me with those guns. They say they've killed a lot of

Americans, one time and another."

"Well, if they did it was for being caught in bad company," said

Hooker. "I'd take a chance with 'em any time--but if you go into their

country with a Mexican escort they'll kill you on general principles.

Say," he cried impulsively, "I'm going over to talk with Amigo!"

With a broad grin on his honest face he advanced toward the giant Yaqui

and shook hands ceremoniously.

"Where you go?" he inquired in Spanish, at the same time rolling a

cigarette and asking by a sign for a match.

"Moctezuma," answered the Indian gravely. Then, as Bud offered him the

makings, he, too, rolled a cigarette and they smoked for a minute in

silence.

"You live here?" inquired the Yaqui at last.

"Come here," corrected Bud. "I have a mine--ten miles--over there."

He pointed with the flat of his hand, Indian fashion, and Amigo nodded

understandingly.

He was a fine figure of a man, standing six feet or better in his

well-cut sandals and handling his heavy Mauser as a child would

swing a stick. Across his broad chest he wore a full cartridge-belt,

and around his waist he had two more, filled to the last hole with

cartridges and loaded clips. At his feet lay his blanket, bound into a

tight roll, and a canteen and coffee-cup completed his outfit, which,

so far as impedimenta were concerned, was simplicity itself.

But instead of the cheap linen uniform of the Federals he was dressed

in good American clothes--a striped shirt, overalls, and a sombrero

banded with a bright ribbon--and in place of the beaten, hunted look of

those poor conscripts he had the steady gaze of a free man.

They stood and smoked for a few moments, talking briefly, and then, as

the Yaquis closed up their ranks and marched off to make camp for the

night, Bud presented his strange friend with the sack of tobacco and

went back to join his pardner.

That evening the plaza was filled with the wildest rumors, and another

train arrived during the night, but through it all Bud and Phil

remained unimpressed. In the morning the soldiers went marching off

down the trail, leaving a great silence where all had been bugle-calls

and excitement, and then the first fugitive came in from down below.

He was an old Mexican, with trembling beard and staring eyes, and he

told a tale of outrage that made their blood run cold. The red-flaggers

had come to his house at night; they had killed his wife and son, left

him upon the ground for dead, and carried off his daughter, a prisoner.

But later, when the _comisario_ questioned him sharply, it developed

that he lived not far away, had no daughter to lose, and was, in fact,

only a crazed old man who told for truth that which he feared would

happen.

Notwithstanding the dénouement, his story stirred the Mexican

population to the depths, and when Bud and Phil tried to hire men to

push the work on the mine, they realized that their troubles had begun.

Not only was it impossible to engage laborers at any price, but on

the following day Cruz Mendez, with his wife and children and all his

earthy possessions on his burros, came hurrying in from the camp and

told them he could serve them no more.

"It is my woman," he explained; "my Maria! Ah, if those _revoltosos_

should see Maria they would steal her before my eyes!"

So he was given his pay and the fifty dollars he had earned and, after

the customary "_Muchas gracias_," and with the faithful Maria by his

side, he went hurrying off to the store.

And now in crowded vehicles, with armed men riding in front and behind,

the refugees from Moctezuma and the hot country began to pour into

town, adding by their very haste to the panic of all who saw them.

They were the rich property-owners who, having been subjected to forced

contribution before, were now fleeing at the first rumor of danger,

bringing their families with them to escape any being held for ransom.

In half a day the big hotel presided over by Don Juan de Dios

Brachamonte was swarming with staring-eyed country mothers and sternly

subdued families of children; and finally, to add éclat to the

occasion and compensate for the general confusion, Don Cipriano Aragon

y Tres Palacios came driving up to the door with his wife and the

smiling Gracia.

If she had been in any fear of capture by bold marauders, Gracia Aragon

did not show it now, as she sprang lightly from the carriage and waited

upon her lady mother. Perhaps, after a year or more of rumors and

alarms, she had come to look upon impending revolutionary conflicts as

convenient excuses for a trip to town, a long stop at the hotel, and

even a dash to gay Gadsden in case the rebels pressed close.

However that may be, while Don Juan exerted himself to procure them a

good room she endured the gaze of the American guests with becoming

placidity and, as that took some time, she even ventured to look the

Americans over and make some comments to her mother.

And then--or as it seemed to Bud--the mother glanced up quickly and

fixed her eyes upon him. After that he was in less of a hurry to return

to the mine, and Phil said they would stay inside for a week. But

as for Don Cipriano, when he came across them it was with malignant

insolence and he abruptly turned his back.

At La Fortuna he was the lord and master, with power to forbid them the

place; but now once more the fortunes of war had turned against him,

and he was forced to tolerate their presence.

The band played in the plaza that evening, it being Thursday of the

week, and as the cornet led with "La Paloma," and the bass viol and

guitars beat the measure, all feet seemed to turn in that direction,

and the fear of the raiders was stilled.

Around and around the band-stand and in and out beneath the trees the

pleasure-loving maidens from down below walked decorously with their

mothers; and the little band of Fortuna Americans, to whom life for

some months had been a trifle burdensome, awoke suddenly to the beauty

of the evening.

And among the rest of the maidens, but far more ravishing and

high-bred, walked Gracia Aragon, at whom Bud in particular stole many

secret glances from beneath the broad brim of his hat, hoping that by

some luck the _insurrectos_ would come upon the town, and he could

defend her--he alone. For he felt that he could do it against any

hundred Mexicans that ever breathed.