The Boy Ranchers Among the Indians Part 19

"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 circ.u.mstances, 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 s.h.i.+ning 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 rus.h.i.+ng 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?

CHAPTER XVIII

SEPARATED

Though realizing how useless it was to question Mike--useless because she doubted if he understood her, and equally futile because he would not bother to answer her--still Rosemary fired a volley of questions at the Indian.

"If I had my way I'd fire a volley of bullets at him--provided I had them to fire!" growled Floyd. But he had not, and Rosemary did not deem this an occasion to again produce her weapon, which she was keeping as a last resort.

Besides, Mike did not betray any specially hostile intentions. He seemed merely anxious to get Rosemary and Floyd out of their prison pen, so to speak, and on the move.

"But what's it all about?" demanded Rosemary. "What's the excitement, and what's the hurry?"

For that there was excitement and an alarm, and that she and her brother were being urged to hurry was very evident.