AN ALARM
While the boy ranchers and their friends from Diamond X had joined
forces with Uncle Sam's troopers and were warm on the trail of the
Yaquis, the squalid, degenerate and vicious band that had captured
Rosemary and Floyd still retained possession of their captives. Though
disheartened and apprehensive, Rosemary and her brother had made up
their minds to one thing--they would not be separated--come what might.
For his sister's sake Floyd had firmly decided that if they attempted
to take Rosemary off by herself he would, at any cost, make an effort
to follow, even if it resulted in his death at the hands of the Indians.
As for Rosemary, she had but one thought--to remain near her brother at
any cost. And as she had so far managed to conceal from the Yaquis the
fact that she possessed her efficient automatic, and a supply of
ammunition, she felt a sense of security that otherwise would not have
been with her. She, too, resolved on desperate measures before she
would let them separate her and Floyd.
So when Mike, as the one who carried out the orders of his villainous
chief Paz, tried to take Rosemary off by herself, probably to break her
spirit and induce her to send a letter to her friends asking that
ransom money be forwarded--when Mike tried to do this he received one
of the surprises of his miserable life as he found himself looking into
the muzzle of Rosemary's gun.
"Ugh!" grunted the Indian.
"I don't know exactly what that means," said Rosemary coolly, as she
held the gun with steady hand so that it "covered" Mike, "but my
brother and I are going to stay together. If you try to separate us
I'll shoot as many of you as I can, and I'm a pretty good shot," she
added grimly. "Then I'll shoot myself and him before I'll let you try
any of your tricks on us!"
She spoke with such fierce earnestness that, though all of her words
may not have been intelligible to her captors, they at least understood
her intent.
Paz gave a grunt, half of admiration and half of anger at this
unexpected change in his plans. Rosemary suddenly wheeled, facing him.
She swung her weapon to cover the evil rascal.
There was a spurt of flame, a puff of smoke and before the crack of the
report snapped out the dirty, greasy hat of Paz went spinning from his
head.
A cry of dismay arose from the followers of the Yaqui chief and mingled
with his own grunt of rage. With a yell Mike reached for his gun, but
with a gesture his chief stopped him, saying something in their own
tongue.
It was, undoubtedly, a command to refrain from shooting down the
captives, which was the evident intent of Mike. And of course that
could easily have been done, for the Yaquis were well armed with rifles
and revolvers they had stolen in their raid. They were not the best
shots in the world, but an infuriated band of them firing on a weary
boy and girl, would have made short work of their lives.
"That wasn't a miss!" said Rosemary with a laugh, as she still held her
gun to cover the leader. "I just wanted to shoot off your hat. I
could have aimed lower down if I had wanted to. That was just to show
you I know how to shoot!"
"Ugh!" grunted Paz, and there was open admiration on his rascally face.
He talked rapidly to Mike and some of the latter's companions who had
gathered around, and there was no further attempt to take Floyd away
from Rosemary.
The latter, however, was on her guard, for she feared they would rush
her, and try to take away her weapon, the unexpected display of which,
as much as her cleverness in shooting away the hat of Paz, had held the
Indians at bay for the necessary reaction to take place.
"Yo' all right!" grunted Paz with another grin, while one of his
followers picked up the hat, looking curiously at the bullet hole
through it: "Yo' smart gal!"
"Sure did have your nerve with you!" complimented Floyd, as he stood
beside his sister. "I wish I had my gun!"
"It's probably just as well you didn't have," she said with a
smile--rather a wan and weary one it must be admitted.
"Why?" demanded Floyd. "I'm as good a shot as you are."
"I know it. But in matters of this kind ruffians will stand for more
from a girl or woman than they would from a man. If you had drawn a
gun they probably would have shot you down without a moment's
hesitation. But when I pulled mine it took them off their feet, so to
speak."
"I wish it would take off a lot of their ugly heads, and their dirty
bodies, too!" grunted Floyd. "Say, Rose, what are we going to do?
This is a terrible pickle to be in."
"It's better to be in a pickle, for that's a sort of preservative,
Floyd," she joked, though how she had the heart to do this she herself
scarcely realized. "As long as they keep us in pickle there's some
hope," she went on, with a tired little laugh. "But when they take us
out--well, I'll be glad to have my gun," she added grimly.
She still held the weapon, but it was evident that she was not going to
be obliged to use it again at once, either for intimidation or actual
defence. Paz waved to her to put it away, and she did, slipping it
into a pocket of her skirt.
It was a pocket she had had made for just such a purpose as carrying a
gun where the ordinary observer would not see it. And if you have ever
hunted for a pocket in your mother's or sister's skirt, and given up in
disgust, you will understand that the subterfuge of Rosemary was not as
simple as at first appears. Of course she realized that if they had
been desperately bent on finding her weapon the Yaquis could have taken
it from her. But they evidently did not dream that she had one. And,
now, when she had given a demonstration of how quickly she could draw
and use it, they would be a bit careful of how they approached her.
Floyd's weapon, of course had been taken from him almost at once. He
had been taken unawares or this might not have been the case. But it
was probably better, under the circumstances, that he had no gun. Or,
as Rosemary had said, he might have rashly fired and the answering
shots from the Indians might have killed both of the captives.
"Go on!" Paz said to Rosemary, indicating that she and her brother
might remain together.
She had brought about what she intended.
The captives were led farther in among the rocks to a sort of natural
cave, and there they were left, some food having been tossed down where
they could reach it. It was the most primitive sort of a prison, so
simple, in fact, that after a while Floyd said:
"What's to hinder us walking away from here, Rosemary? They aren't
watching us, and if we pack some of this grub--rotten as it is--maybe
we can get away, and reach Diamond X ranch."
"I'm afraid we'd have small chance of that," Rosemary answered wearily.
"What I'm in hopes of is that some one will come to the rescue. I'm
sure my note will bring us help."
"Yes, but _when_?" asked Floyd, a bit fretfully. "It may be too late.
I'm going to see if we can't get away. Stay here and I'll crawl up to
the top of the rock and see what the situation is."
"I think you'll find it isn't as easy as it looks," said his sister.
Nor was it. In the first place the climb up the jagged rocks was
wearisome, but Floyd managed it. But when he was at the top, and
looked over to see if there was a trail of escape, he was unpleasantly
surprised by a piece of stone hitting him sharply on the head.
At first he thought it was a fragment of rock dropping from above,
perhaps dislodged by his exertions. But there was no rock over his
head. He was at the highest peak in that immediate vicinity.
Then the lad's eyes roved about and he saw, sitting in a natural niche
of the stone, not far from him, a greasy Indian, who held his hand
poised to toss another stone at Floyd.
The Indian grinned and motioned to the captive to go back. Then Floyd
understood. This Indian was a sentry, placed on guard to prevent the
captives leaving.
"Well?" questioned Rosemary, as Floyd slid back to where she was
spreading out some blankets that had been tossed in with their food.
"No go," was the discouraged answer. "They've got us hemmed in."
"We'll just have to wait--that's all," said the girl. "I don't believe
they'll do us any real harm now. They probably want money for letting
us go. I expect they'll be having us write notes, soon, to Uncle
Henry, asking him to forward ten thousand dollars, or some amount like
that."
"Ten thousand dollars!" gasped Floyd.
"Mexican!" laughed Rosemary with a joking spirit she did not altogether
feel.
Thus left to themselves, in a sort of natural prison of the rocks, a
roofless cave, the captives spent the night, rolled in blankets. It
was cool without a campfire, but none was allowed them. Sore, stiff
and disheartened, Rosemary and Floyd arose soon after the sun was up,
and made a pretense at breakfast. They were given some tin cups of
black, bitter and muddy coffee, without sugar, but it was most
comforting.
"I never tasted anything better!" declared Floyd, draining the last
drops.
"Nor I," agreed his sister.
There was a movement among the Indians, and it was evident that they
were about to take to the trail again. Rosemary and Floyd wondered how
far they would thus be led into the mountains. Surely if a demand for
ransom money was to be made it must be made soon.
But then they did not know how far they were from the ranch of their
uncle, whom they had set out to visit. They might be going toward it
or away from it. They had lost all sense of direction.
Suddenly something seemed to take place down in the main camp of the
Indians that indicated a new element in the grim adventure. There were
shouts and excited cries--cries of alarm, it was very evident.
"Oh!" cried Rosemary with shining eyes. "Maybe it's a rescue party
after us?"
"I hope so!" shouted Floyd.
A moment later Mike, his face showing unmistakable signs of fear, came
rushing in, and by signs, and talk in his own tongue, of which Rosemary
and Floyd could understand a few words, he indicated that they were to
follow him.
Meanwhile the confusion and alarm in the main body of the Yaquis
increased.
What had happened?