"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 n.o.ble 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 train 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 coa.r.s.e food was pa.s.sed 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 pa.s.sed 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 d.i.c.k 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 d.i.c.k.

"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!"