The Boy Ranchers Among the Indians Page 7

  "We want to drive the Indians back," declared Del Pinzo.

  "Yes, I reckon they're picking on your preserves, that's the reason," said Snake. "Well, this is a free country. As long as you're out of jail—though how you beat it I can't guess—you can do as you please, I s'pose—as long as it doesn't interfere with us.

  "So hit any trail you like as long as it isn't ours. Now remember—don't make a break for your horses and guns until I fire a shot."

  "So be it, Senor. And one thing more?"

  "What is it?"

  "May I put down my hands? I am wounded—"

  "Oh, put 'em down? I didn't more than graze you to keep you from shooting one of our men. Put 'em down!"

  With a sigh of relief the outlaw lowered his hands, an example followed by his men, all of whom were unarmed. They marched behind their leader to the place designated, and for the first time Snake breathed easily.

  "How do you reckon he got here?" asked Bud, when hurried preparations were under way for breakfast.

  "Give it up," answered Snake, who had sent some men to collect the guns and horses of the Del Pinzo gang.

  "He may have bribed his way out of jail, or have broken out, and we'll have to let that go until later. He may really be trying to drive back the Yaquis, for fear they'll steal things that he has an eye to himself. Or he may be lying—I think most likely the last. Anyhow he happened to strike this place the same time as we did, and either knowing who we were, or not knowing, and that part has me guessing, he tried to pick us off. However we'll give him the slip this time."

  "I don't see how, if you leave him his horses and guns," put in Yellin'

  Kid.

  "Well, he and his men can't do much riding on horses without saddles and bridles," said Snake, "and as for the guns—well, I'll leave them for him at the first ranch I come to."

  "You mean you're going to take his guns with you?" asked Bud.

  "Surest thing you ever said, son. Think I'd trust him with any shooting irons behind me. And we'll just strip his horses, too. We can pack along his saddles and bridles. If they want to ride bare back that's up to them."

  And this was the plan followed. There were several pack animals in the outfit from the Diamond X, and on these the saddles and bridles from the outlaws' horses were packed. Then the guns were collected from the ambush, and taken along when the start was made after breakfast.

  "Hit the trail!" cried Snake, when preparations were complete.

  Off in the distance, hungrily waiting for the signal that would let them return, stood Del Pinzo and his gang. Their food was not disturbed. They had the means for making breakfast.

  Off rode Snake and his followers. At a distance of little more than half a mile from the scene of the fighting, on a rising hill, the cowboy stopped.

  "Here's where we let 'em go back and eat," he said grimly.

  He raised his gun and fired a shot. Instantly the gang, with Del Pinzo in the lead, rushed for the place where their property had been left.

  "We spiked their guns, I think," chuckled Bud, as he rode beside his cousins.

  "I guess yes!" laughed Nort.

  Forward they rode once more—on the trail of the Yaquis. As they dipped down into a little valley there came to their ears faint yells of rage.

  "They've found their saddles gone!" said Nort.

  Again came a shout.

  "They've missed their bridles!" said Dick.

  A louder yell!

  "No guns!" shouted Bud. "Oh, this is one time we put it all over Del

  Pinzo!"

  Forward rode the outfit from Diamond X.

  CHAPTER XIII

  WEARY CAPTIVES

  "Rosemary, are you able to stand it?" Floyd put this question to his sister as the weary captives were urged along the trail by the Yaquis.

  "We've just got to stand it, Floyd," was the brave answer. "Help must come to us, and we must bear up until it does come."

  "Oh, I can stand it all right—I really don't mind. But for you—it must be terrible! And the worst of it is I can't do a thing to help you."

  "Not now, no, Floyd," Rosemary answered, with a brave attempt at a smile. "But we must watch our chance. These Mexican Indians aren't like our own—or like our own used to be. They aren't half as smart. We ought to be able to escape from them if we get half a chance."

  "Well, maybe, Rosemary. But they're bad enough if they aren't smart."

  Floyd spoke with all the evidence on his side. For a more disreputable, unsavory, desperate and wicked band of men it would be almost impossible to find. Repulsive in face, dirty, tattered and torn, wearing all sorts of cast off garments, a few in blankets, astride bony and broken horses, most of them, but each one armed with gun, revolver or knife, it was a crew of pirates, cut-throats, highwaymen to be carefully shunned.

  "Well, I'm glad to see you keeping your courage up, Rosemary," remarked her brother, trying to ease himself in the saddle. It was not very feasible, as the captives were partly tied to prevent their escape, and they could not shift about as they pleased.

  "Oh, we have to make the best of it, Floyd," his sister told him.

  "They haven't treated us roughly yet."

  "No, and I wonder at it."

  "It's because they have taken us for a ransom, I'm sure. They know if they don't hand us over in good shape there will be no ransom money for them."

  "Who do you think they count on getting it from?"

  "Our relatives, of course. Or maybe they think Uncle Sam will intervene on our behalf."

  "I wish to goodness he would—that he'd send a band of U.S. regulars after this bunch of pirates. Golly! How the Yaquis would scatter; eh, Rosemary?"

  "Maybe we'll see that soon, Floyd. And maybe the boys from the Diamond X will come to our rescue. You know Bud's mother wrote that he and his two eastern cousins had a ranch of their own now. My message ought to reach some one."

  "I hope it does, Rosemary. But who's this coming up?"

  The talk of brother and sister had attracted the attention of the Indians, and there had been muttered comments. Following this one of the knot of guards around the two captives had spurred ahead to where Paz rode. Then back with the messenger came riding an Indian better mounted and equipped than most of the members of the band.

  He forced his horse between the steeds of Rosemary and Floyd, and gave each of them a grin he may have intended to be friendly.

  "What's the idea—Mike?" asked Floyd.

  "Mike? Why do you call him that?" asked Rosemary.

  "Because he looks friendly enough to be an Irishman," was the answer. "See, he has a turned up nose, I verily believe he has Irish blood in him. Let's call him Mike."

  "Mike" grinned, though doubtless he understood nothing of what was said.

  "He does look Irish," agreed Rosemary. "But I don't see how."

  The explanation probably was that some wandering, adventuring Irishman had married an Indian woman. The Yaquis, like many other Indian or native tribes often intermarried. In fact it was this that in a measure led to their downfall. For they lost the ideals of their race, disease crept in and to-day many a band of what was once a noble people is but a dragged-out remnant, steeped in crime.

  The Yaquis were once among the best of the Mexican Indian tribes. Though not large in numbers they were clean-living and of high character. The Spanish conquest of Mexico marked the beginning of the end for them, as it did many another Mexican race.

  There was once a great civilization existing in the narrow strip of land connecting North and South America. Now only the faintest traces remain.

  Once the Indian tribes flourished, they may even have had a written language, of which now only a few idiograms remain. The men and women were skilled in basketry, pottery and the making of gold and silver ornaments.

  But they fell upon evil days, or evil days came to them, it matters little which, and they began to go down. Today there are only a few thousands of the Yaquis left, and they have degenerated into t
rain robbers along the Southern Pacific line. They live like beasts, they have mingled with negroes, degenerate Spaniards and Mexicans until it is almost an insult to apply the name "Indian" to them.

  And it was a band of such natives as this that had captured Rosemary and Floyd. Kept as much as possible to the confines of what might be termed, unofficially, a reservation, the Yaquis occasionally broke through the line of Mexican soldier guards and went on a rampage, often crossing the border into Arizona, as happened in the spring of 1921, when several Americans were killed in a border town.

  It was an uprising of this same nature which had spelled trouble for Rosemary and her brother. They had happened along at the wrong time, as it were.

  Tired and weary, in body and spirit, the captives were urged forward. "Mike" as our friends had dubbed him, seemed good natured enough, for he kept a perpetual grin on his face. His mission seemed to be to ride between Rosemary and Floyd, and prevent any collusion to escape.

  However there was no time or chance to think of that now. The cavalcade filed along a narrow, rocky gorge, from which there was no side trail. Paz and some of his more intimate followers rode in the van, and the rear guard was made up of ragged Indians—with apologies for using the name.

  Rosemary and Floyd would not have had a chance had they been able to turn their horses and make a bolt for it. So they must ride on. They were too weary to talk now, they could only hope for the best. When would the rescuers come?

  A halt was made at noon, and some coarse food was passed to the captives. Rosemary shuddered at it and turned away.

  "You must eat," Floyd told her. "Got to keep up your strength you know."

  And she managed to choke down a few mouthfuls.

  The afternoon passed wearily. They were going deeper into the mountains it seemed. There appeared to be some dispute between Paz on one side and a few of his followers on the other. And it seemed to have to do with a place to camp for the night. The men wanted to stop while the sun was yet in sight, but Paz insisted on going on until it was below the jagged peaks. Then he indicated a place where camp was to be made.

  Mike slid off his horse, and, loosening the ropes, indicated that

  Rosemary and Floyd were to do the same. So cramped and stiff was

  Rosemary that she fell in a heap as she slid from the saddle. With a

  cry Floyd sprang to her aid, only to be thrust back by Mike.

  "What do you mean?" yelled the boy. "I want to help my sister—you—you—"

  He was spluttering with rage as he raised his hand, and looked about for a rock with which to attack the Indian.

  "Don't—Floyd!" called Rosemary calmly. "I am all right—just numb, that's all! Don't get into a fight. They may separate us!"

  Indeed that did seem to be the orders given by Paz, who rode up a moment later. For Mike took Rosemary by the arm, and was leading her away, while another Indian, dirty, greasy and with an evil grin on his fat face, thrust Floyd to one side.

  "Stop!" suddenly cried Rosemary. She swung free of Mike's grasp, and in an instant that individual was looking straight into the muzzle of a small but very serviceable automatic.

  CHAPTER XIV

  SURROUNDED

  Bubbling over with mirth, at the manner in which they had gotten the best of Del Pinzo and his gang, the outfit from Diamond X rode on the trail again, once more intent on trailing the Yaquis that had captured Floyd and Rosemary. And if Bud, Nort and Dick could, at that moment, or thereabouts, have seen Rosemary boldly defying the evil-faced Mike with her automatic, their admiration for the girl would have been manifested by yells of approval.

  But Bud and his chums, with their cowboy friends, were all unaware of what was happening farther on in the desolate mountain whither the Indians had led their captives. If they had been they probably would not have ridden on in such comparative leisure. For they did not rush at headlong pace, knowing they had a long, long trail ahead of them, and must conserve not only their strength, but, what was more important, that of their horses.

  Without horses it would have been impossible to have gone on for more than a short distance in that wild country. As I have explained motor cars, even the marvelous little Ford, would have been out of the question, so rough was the trail, so winding amid rocks, now down in some narrow defile, hardly wide enough for a single rider, and again ascending some slope tangled with brush and dead trees.

  Knowing themselves to be thus dependent on their horses our heroes saved their steeds all they could. It was for this reason that, much as they hated Del Pinzo and his gang, they would not deprive these outlaws of what was a means of life—their horses.

  "But they won't ride after us, and I don't believe they'll give us any more trouble," chuckled Bud, as he visioned the outlaws, used to their comfortable if clumsy saddles, riding bareback. To a horseman this is the limit of torture, for the horses of the west are no circus animals, with broad, flat backs. Instead, they generally have a ridge of bone on which it is almost impossible to ride, even when a blanket or two is strapped on in place of a saddle. Only an Indian can manage to ride along with but a blanket for a seat.

  "Yes, we put one over on them all right," agreed Dick.

  "The only thing about it is that they held us up," remarked Nort.

  "We're several hours behind our schedule now."

  "It can't be helped," spoke Bud, looking at a deep scratch on his hand—a scratch caused by a glancing bullet. "We can't really do anything toward rescuing Rosemary and Floyd until we strike the trail of the Yaquis, and it's mostly guess work until then."

  "But when we do locate them!" exclaimed Nort, as he gripped the handle of his gun, "we'll let 'em see what a mistake they made!"

  "You got rid of a mouthful that time, son," observed Yellin' Kid. And then, lifting his voice he roared out:

  "As I was ridin' on the trail,

  My true love for to see.

  I met a four-legged grizzly bear,

  An' th' grizzly he met me!

  "'Oh kind Mr. Bear,' I gently called,

  'Move on!' but he shook his head.

  So then I ups with my .45

  An' fills him full of lead!"

  Having gotten this out of his "system," Yellin' Kid seemed to feel better. He smiled genially at the boy ranchers, and flapping his hat down on the side of his pony sent the animal ahead in a cloud of dust to join some of his companions in the lead.

  Thus, making merry as possible under the circumstances, the outfit from Diamond X resumed the trail, the more experienced cowboys looking here and there for any "sign" that would indicate the presence or the passage of the Yaquis.

  As a matter of fact Snake Purdee did not expect to "meet up" with any of the Indians for some time. He and Rolling Stone had talked the matter over, and Rolling Stone had given the benefit of his experience in trailing Yaquis.

  "With them," said the new acquisition to Diamond X, "it's a sort of a flash in the pan. They get excited for some reason or other, have a war dance, a pow wow or some ceremony, and before they know it some crazy leader has taken the trail with some of his friends, and they're bent on shooting up some Mexican or American town, getting strong drink when they can, and stealing everything they can lay their dirty paws on.

  "That's when they're in the first rush of excitement, and I take it that it was on a time like this the Yaquis took Miss Rosemary and Floyd. Why they did this, instead of shooting 'em, as they generally do, I can't make out. The Yaquis don't ordinarily use those methods."

  "Unless they took my cousins to hold for ransom," suggested Bud.

  "Well, of course that's possible, but I didn't know the Yaquis were that smart," answered Rolling Stone. "Still, some new leader may have gotten together a band, or it may be some half breed, or even some renegade American is at the bottom of this. I can understand a chap like that holding prisoners for ransom.

  "But what I started to say was that once the first wild outburst is over, the Yaquis will keep mighty quiet. They won't
go about with a brass band, advertising their hiding places."

  "You mean it won't be easy to find them?" asked Nort.

  "That's it, son. They're going to be mighty cute and foxy, and while a Yaqui isn't in it with our old time American Indians in the matter of covering a trail, still we aren't going to have any walkover. We've got our work cut out for us."

  "I believe you!" shouted Yellin' Kid. "But we'll get the devils sooner or later."

  "The sooner the better," said Rolling Stone quietly, and there was in his very quietness a menace which the boys understood very well. Every hour that Rosemary and Floyd remained in the hands of the Yaquis meant an ever increasing danger. And once the mad frenzy of the Indians wore off and they began to realize what they had done, anticipating the consequences once they were captured with the prisoners in their possession, there was hardly a question of what they would do to Rosemary and Floyd. The captives would be killed to get them out of the way.

  It was this that urged the rescue party ahead with all the speed possible, and consistent with preserving their horses' power to travel.

  In spite of wounds, and some were seriously hurt (one dying later) there was no sign of gloom in the midst of the party of which the boy ranchers formed an important element. Some of the cowboys sang, and Yellin' Kid intoned another verse or two of the many songs with which he seemed plentifully provided.

  Coming to a deep ravine, along which the trail led into the mountains, where it was reported the Yaquis had headed, Snake Purdee called a halt.

  "What's the matter now?" asked Rolling Stone.

  "Do you see anything?" asked Bud, for he noticed the veteran cowboy looking down into the black depths.

  "No," answered Snake slowly, "but it strikes me this is a good place to get rid of the saddles and truck we took offen Del Pinzo. No use carting the duffle along. It's no good to us and it only tires our pack mules. Heave it down this gully, boys and we'll ride lighter."