A LONE INDIAN

Less noise than that which issued from the excited throat of Nort would have been sufficient to arouse a larger camp than that of the cowboys on the trail of the Yaquis. Instantly every man in the party, not forgetting Bud who had been sleeping as soundly as any, was on the alert, gun in hand, rubbing the sleep from his eyes with the other fist.

"What's up?" snarled Snake. He always did hate to rouse suddenly.

"Look!" cried Nort, pointing to the north, where, now and then, a shimmering light cut the blackness of the sky. "d.i.c.k says they're shooting stars, but I say Indian signals."

"They aren't shooting stars, that's sure!" declared Rolling Stone.

"I've slept in the open too often, counting those same shooting stars, to be mistaken. They're signals of some kind!"

"But not Indians' signals," a.s.serted Yellin' Kid.

"Whose then?" Nort wanted to know, satisfied that he had not awakened the camp in vain.

"They're rockets--or some sort of fire works," went on d.i.c.k. "First I thought they were shooting stars, but I can see now that they aren't.

They're sky rockets or Roman candles."

"That's right," agreed Snake. "And no Yaquis will fool with such infernal machines as them."

"Unless your cousins had some," suggested Yellin' Kid looking toward Bud and his chums. Some one had thrown an armful of greasewood on the fire, and it blazed up brightly, disclosing the countenances of the Indian trailers.

"What would Rosemary and Floyd be doing with fireworks?" asked Bud.

"I didn't know but what they might be bringing some to Diamond X for a celebration, and the Indians, having laid hands on the rockets as well as on your cousins, might be setting 'em off--setting off the rockets I mean--for a celebration over their victory," observed Yellin' Kid, somewhat out of breath after this long oration.

"Nonsense!" a.s.serted Snake. "The Indians wouldn't set off the rockets on purpose. They'd be afraid. Though of course they may have done so by accident."

"I don't believe Rosemary or Floyd would be bringing us fireworks,"

remarked Bud. "They're too old for such kid stuff."

"That's what I thought," said Snake.

"But who is shooting off the rockets?" asked Nort, as another brilliant burst of fire, not unlike shooting stars, illuminated the dark northern sky.

"Troopers," said the old cowboy.

"Troopers?" question d.i.c.k.

"Yes. United States cavalry. There are several companies stationed out here, and they may be on a practice march, or having a sham battle, as they sometimes do. These are signals from one post to another."

"Or maybe a signal about the Indians," suggested Bud.

"Yes," agreed Snake. "It may be the troopers are after the Yaquis. I sure hope so, for the imps are going to be hard enough to nab once they get up in the foothills and mountains. We'll need the help of the troopers for sure!"

"Isn't there some way we could let them know we're coming?" asked d.i.c.k.

"Not very handy," the cowboy leader answered. "We haven't any fireworks, and shooting off our guns would only waste good bullets that we may need later. Besides, those shooting stars are farther off than they look. We couldn't make our guns heard, and the flashes would be so low down they couldn't be seen. All we can do is to wait until morning. We're traveling in that direction anyhow, and we may come up with the regulars."

"With their help we'll make short work of the Yaquis!" boasted Nort.

"Don't be so sure of that," warned Rolling Stone. "The Indians, while nothing like the American redmen, are cute and foxy enough in their own way. They probably know of nooks and hiding places in the mountains where they could lay up for weeks, and almost next door to a troop of soldiers, without getting located. It's going to be largely a matter of luck if we nab 'em!"

"Well, here's hoping," voiced Bud, as he turned toward the fire.

It was chilly out in the open at that hour of the morning. For though the days are very hot, it began to get cool very often as soon as the sun went down, and the air kept getting cooler until the golden rays again warmed the earth. So one and all sought the genial blaze, to thaw out a little before again rolling in blankets to wait for sunrise.

Aside from the alarm over the shooting stars, nothing else disturbed the camp that night, and all were gladly astir with daybreak. The fire was started into new life, and soon coffee was boiling over the coals, while mingled with its odor was the appetizing smell of crisp bacon.

"Let me make the flapjacks," begged Rolling Stone. "I used to be a great hand for them, and I still have some small skill."

He would need to have, for not a member of the party but what could turn a neatly browned cake high in the air, catching it unerringly as it came down, to be cooked on the other side. Even Nort and d.i.c.k had become quite adept at this.

But the skill of even Snake Purdee had to take a back seat in the face of the performance of Rolling Stone. Not only were his cakes better in taste, and more delicately browned, but he showed almost uncanny skill in tossing them high in the air, and catching them in the pan as they came down. Not once did a cake "slop over"--that is descend half within and half without the pan. Each one fell true and in the middle of the skillet, there to be held over the coals again until crisp and brown.

"You're a wonder--that's what you are!" affirmed Yellin' Kid in his usual hearty tones, as he pa.s.sed his tin plate for more.

"It's a gift--that's all! Just a gift!" modestly admitted the self-const.i.tuted "flapjacketer," as he laughingly dubbed himself.

Smart was the word and smart was the action when breakfast was ended.

The horses had made their meal during the night, and were ready for their riders who were soon in the saddle, riding toward the north--the north in which direction the Yaquis had vanished with their captives--the north where the mysterious signal lights had been seen.

Through the day rode the posse of self-const.i.tuted seekers after the captives. They could not hope, for some time yet, to come upon actual traces of the Yaquis. But they felt that they were heading in the proper direction.

It was towards the close of the afternoon, when they were beginning to seek for a suitable camping place, with water, that Nort, who had ridden on a little in advance, came to a halt at the top of a rise.

His halt was caused by the appearance of a solitary horseman, coming toward him. And it needed but a second look, through that clear atmosphere, to disclose that the rider was not an American cowboy.

"What's wrong, Nort?" called Bud, for he had sensed something unusual in his cousin's att.i.tude.

"An Indian!" was the answer. "A lone Indian!"

The others rode hastily up the slope. The solitary horseman was coming rapidly on. He seemed to have no fear of thus riding into the midst of his enemies.

"Got his nerve with him, anyhow!" mused Snake, as he looked to his gun.

"Maybe he's come to say the Yaquis will surrender and give up Rosemary and Floyd," suggested d.i.c.k. "Maybe they know we're on their trail."

CHAPTER X

SHOTS FROM AMBUSH

The boy ranchers were very free with their surmises as to what might portend the oncoming of the lone Indian. Youth is ever thus, eager to guess instead of waiting for certainties. The older cowboys--Yellin'

Kid, Snake, Rolling Stone and those who made up the rescue party--remained in silent contemplation of the approaching figure.

"He rides doggoned funny," observed Snake.