It was his last card, and he did not expect to win by it. Fate had been
against him from the first, and he could see his finish, but his nature
drove him to fight on. All that Aragon had to do now was to have _him_
summoned for military service, and Del Rey would do the rest.
Then he could take over the mine. A mere formality--or so it
seemed--but between Aragon and his mine stood the Texas blood. Hooker
had been crowded to the wall, and he was mad enough to fight.
The news of De Lancey's desertion followed quickly after his flight--it
came over the Federal wires in a report to Manuel del Rey--but by the
time it got to Aragon that gentleman was too late. They rode into camp
the next day--Aragon and the captain of the _rurales_--and at the first
glimpse of that hated uniform Amigo was off like a buck. Bud went out
sullenly to meet them, his black mood showing in his lowering eyes, and
he halted them by the savagery of his cursing.
"You cock-eyed old reprobate," he snarled, advancing threateningly upon
the paling Aragon, "this makes three times you've come into my camp
and brought your gun with you! Now take it off!" he yelled, dropping
suddenly into Spanish. "Take that gun off--do you understand?"
So violent and unexpected was his assault that it threw Aragon into a
panic, and even Manuel del Rey softened his manner as he inquired into
the cause.
"Never mind," answered Bud, smiling crustily as Aragon laid aside his
arms; "I know that _hombre_ well! Now what can I do for you, _capitan_?"
"Be so kind as to take your hand from your belt," replied Del Rey
with a smile that was intended to placate. "Ah, thank you--excuse my
nerves--now I can tell you the news. I regret to inform you _señor_,
that your friend, De Lancey, has deserted from my command, taking his
arms and equipment with him. In case he is captured he will be shot as
a deserter."
"Your news is old, _capitan_," rejoined Hooker. "I knew it two days
ago. And you can tell Mr. Aragon that it is no use for him to try to
get this mine--I became a Mexican citizen yesterday and located it
myself."
"So we learned," responded the captain suavely. "It was part of
my errand to-day to ask if you would not enlist in my company of
_rurales_."
"_Muchas gracias, capitan_," answered Hooker with heavy irony. "I do
not care to!"
"But your friend--" protested Manuel del Rey with an insinuating smile.
"My friend was in jail," put in Bud; "he was to be shot at sunrise. But
_mira, amigo_, I am _not_ in jail, and, furthermore, I do not intend to
be."
"That is very creditable to you," laughed Del Rey; "but even then you
are entitled to enlist."
"The country is full of turbulent fellows who have to be caught or
killed. Come now, you understand my errand--why make it hard for me?"
"No, _señor_," returned Bud grimly, "I know nothing of your errand. But
this I do know. I have done nothing for which I can be arrested, and if
any man tries to make me join the army--" he hooked his thumb into his
belt and regarded the captain fixedly.
"Ah, very well," said Del Rey, jerking his waxed _mustachios_, "I will
not press the matter. But I understand from one of my men, _señor_,
that you are harboring a dangerous criminal here--the same man,
perhaps, whom I saw running up the cañon?"
He smiled meaningly at this, but Bud was swift to defend his Yaqui.
"No, _señor_," he replied, "I have no such criminal. I have a Mexican
working for me who is one of the best miners in Sonora, and that is all
I know about him."
"A Mexican?" repeated Del Rey, arching his eyebrows. "Excuse me, sir,
but it is my business to know every man in this district, and he is no
Mexican, but a Yaqui. Moreover, he is a fugitive and an outlaw, and if
he had not been enlisted with the Federals I should have arrested him
when he passed through Fortuna. So I warn you, sir, not to hide him, or
you will be liable to the law."
"I'm not hiding him," protested Hooker scornfully. "I'm just hiring him
as a miner, and any time you want him you can come and get him. He's up
in the rocks there somewhere now."
"So!" exclaimed the captain, glancing uneasily at the hillside. "I did
not think--but many thanks, _señor_, another time will do as well."
He reined his horse away as he spoke and, with a jerk of the head
to Aragon, rode rapidly down the cañon. Aragon lingered to retrieve
his fallen gun-belt and then, seeming to think better of his desire
to speak, he made a single vindictive gesture and set spurs to his
champing horse.
It was merely a fling of the hand, as spontaneous as a sigh or a frown,
but in it Hooker read the last exasperation of the Spaniard and his
declaration of war to the knife. He bared his strong teeth in reply and
hissed out a blighting curse, and then Aragon was gone.
That evening, as the darkness came on and the cañon became hushed
and still, Bud built a big fire and stood before it, his rugged form
silhouetted against the flames. And soon, as quiet as a fox, the Yaqui
appeared from the gloom.
"Did he come for me," he asked, advancing warily into the firelight,
"that _capitan_?"
"Yes," answered Bud, "and for me, too. But you must have known him
before, Amigo--he seems to be afraid of you."
A smile of satisfaction passed over the swarthy face of the Indian at
this, and then the lines became grim again. His eyes glowed with the
light of some great purpose, and for the first time since he had been
with Bud he drew aside the veil from his past.
"Yes," he said, nodding significantly, "the _rural_ is afraid. He knows
I have come to kill him."
He squatted by the fire and poured out a cup of coffee, still brooding
over his thoughts--then, with a swift gesture, he laid open his shirt
and pointed to a scar along the ribs.
"He shot me there," he said.
"And so you have come to kill him?"
"Yes," answered Amigo; "but not now. Tomorrow I go to my people--I must
take them my money first."
"Have you got a wife?" asked Hooker, forgetting for once his accustomed
reserve.
"No," grumbled Amigo, shaking his head sadly, "no wife."
"Oh, you take your money to your father and mother."
"No. No father--no mother--_nadie_!"
He threw up his open hands to signify that all were gone, and Hooker
said no more. For three months and more he had worked alongside this
giant, silent Yaqui and only once had he sensed his past. That was when
Amigo had torn his shirt in lifting, and across the rippling muscles of
his back there had shown the long white wale of a whip.
It was the mark of his former slavery when, with the rest of his
people, he had been deported to the henequen-fields of Yucatan and
flogged by the overseer's lash--and Amigo was ashamed of it. But now
that he was about to go, Bud made bold to ask him one more question, to
set his mind at rest.
"Perhaps this captain killed your people?"
"No, _señor_," answered Amigo quietly; "they died."
He spoke the words simply, but there was something in his voice that
brought up images of the past--of peaceful Yaquis, seized at every
ranch in Sonora on a certain night; of long marches overland, prodded
on by _rurales_ and guards; of the crowded prison-ships from which the
most anguished hurled themselves into the sea; and then the awful years
of slavery in the poisoned tropics, until only the hardiest were left.
Amigo had seen it all, as the scars on his broad back proved--but he
withdrew now into silence and left his thoughts unsaid. As he sat there
by the fire, one long, black hand held out to keep the gleam from his
eyes, he made a noble figure, but the Yaqui songs which he had crooned
on other nights were forgotten, and he held himself tense and still.
Then at last he rose and gazed at Bud.
"You pay me my money," he said. "I go now."
"Sure," answered Bud, and after he had weighed out the equivalent in
gold on his scales he flipped in some more for luck and gave him a sack
to hold it.
"What you buy with all that," he inquired with a friendly grin; "grub?"
"No, _señor_," answered Amigo, knotting the precious gold in a
handkerchief; "cartridges!"
"What for?" queried Bud, and then it was Amigo who smiled.
"To kill Mexicans with!" he replied, and in those words Hooker read the
secret of his thrift.
While his wild brethren fought in the hills or prepared for the battles
to come, it was his part to earn the money that should keep them in
ammunition. It was for that, in fact, that Porfirio Diaz had seized
all the peaceful Yaquis in a night and shipped them to Yucatan--for he
saw that while they were working the wild Yaquis would never lack.
All the time that Amigo had been doing two men's work and saving on the
price of a shirt he had held that cheerful dream in his mind--to kill
more Mexicans!
Yet, despite the savagery in him, Hooker had come to like the Yaqui,
and he liked him still. With the _rurales_ on his trail it was better
that he should go, but Bud wanted him to return. So, knowing the simple
honesty of Indians, he brought out his own spare pistol and placed it
in Amigo's hands. Often he had seen him gazing at it longingly, for it
was lighter than his heavy Mauser and better for the journey.
"Here," he said, "I will lend you my pistol--and you can give it to me
when you come back."
"Sure!" answered the Indian, hanging it on his hip. "_Adios!_"
They shook hands then, and the Yaqui disappeared in the darkness. In
the morning, when a squad of _rurales_ closed in on the camp, they
found nothing but his great tracks in the dust.