"Yes, what is it?" and Floyd added his demand to that of his sister.

"No _sabe_!" grunted Mike, that being his way of using his command of Spanish to indicate that he did not know. More likely he did not want to tell. But there was no way of forcing him.

"Oh, we've got to ride those horrid knife-backed ponies!" half groaned Rosemary, as she saw led out for the use of herself and her brother the steeds on which they had been carried thus far into the mountains.

"They're so bony I'm afraid their backbones will cut through the saddle."

"They look as though they might," agreed Floyd. "Gee, but I'm dirty and I'd like a shave and this is perfectly rotten altogether!" he completed with a sigh.

"Don't mention such a thing as a bath tub!" wailed Rosemary. "I don't believe these heathen know what water means for washing in."

Certainly the appearances of the Yaquis bore out that a.s.sertion. They were dirty, grimy and greasy to a degree--and a high degree at that.

Rosemary wore bloomers under a short skirt, an attire eminently suited to women folk in the west. For Rosemary was a rider of no small ability, more at home in the saddle than on the seat of an auto, and she and Floyd counted on much riding once they reached their uncle's ranch which now, alas, seemed far away.

Thus attired the girl found no difficulty in getting into the saddle, and her ability provoked murmurs of admiration from the Yaquis.

"Oh, if I only had a chance I'd show you how to ride!" declared Rosemary, when she understood that her skill as a horsewoman was being commented on. "Let me set out in the open once, with a good horse under me instead of a specimen of crow-bait, and I'll open your eyes!"

But this was not to be--just yet.

Floyd, too, was a good rider, but his sister had more of a natural knack with ponies, and often bested him in a race. He too, now swung a leg over the saddle and mounted. With Mike in the lead, and several of the Yaquis bringing up in the rear as a guard against a retreat on the part of the captives, they were urged forward out of the rocky defile into which they had come the night before.

Eagerly Rosemary and Floyd looked about them for some indication as to the cause of the sudden excitement, and the movement among the Indians.

Anxiously the captives scanned the horizon for a sight of some rescue party, the approach of which might have sent the Indians scurrying for cover. But nothing was to be seen--at least of that nature, though Rosemary and her brother did see something that caused them great surprise.

This was a sight of the main body of the Yaquis, under the leadership of Paz, moving off at a right angle to the main trail, while Mike, evidently in command of the smaller party which guarded the captives, was going on up the mountain slope, farther into the fastnesses of the rugged peaks.

"Say, what's up?" asked Floyd, of his sister.

"Don't know, but it looks as if they had separated. One band going one way and our bunch this way. I don't like it either. I'd rather deal with Paz, ugly as he is, than with this Mike, who is Irish only because we've given him that name," Rosemary answered.

"It is queer," murmured Floyd, as he guided his pony along the difficult trail. "Paz has gone off with the main body of Indians, and left us in charge of these. If I only had a gun we could take a chance and rush them, Rose. There's only about three dozen!"

"Too many for just one gun," she answered.

"But can you guess what the game is?" her brother wanted to know.

"Well that's all I can do--guess. From what went on soon after breakfast I imagine some of the Indians saw, or heard about a party that was on their trail."

"You mean a party from Diamond X?"

"Either that or soldiers."

"That's so! Soldiers!" cried Floyd. "I hadn't thought of them! Of course there are troopers stationed out here at various places. And word of the Yaquis uprising is sure to go to them. Maybe a band of U.S. Regulars is on the way to save us, Rose!"

"I hope so. But we can't count on it. What I do think, though, is that Paz took alarm at something, and he isn't going to chance being found with us on his hands."

"You mean he's pa.s.sing the buck to Mike here?"

"Something like that. If our friends or Uncle Sam's men round up this bunch of cut throats and find us in their possession it will go hard with them. So Paz isn't taking any chances."

"That may be the explanation," agreed Rosemary. "Anyhow we're being taken farther into the mountains by a small band, and the larger body is sliding off to one side."

"It's a queer thing," said Floyd, as he and his sister rode along side by side, "that these Yaquis didn't turn back into Mexico, and take us across the border instead of rushing us into the United States."

"Maybe they were afraid to cross the border, which is pretty sure to be better guarded than usual, after this outbreak," Rosemary said. "Or maybe the Yaquis didn't want to share spoils with any of their friends on their own side of the fence."

"That's so!" agreed Floyd. "And now that there's a chance of ransom money--or these beggars think there is--I reckon they're less anxious than before to whack it up.

"That's it! They're taking us as far off as they can to keep the cash among themselves, and, meanwhile, Paz leads the main body away from us."

"But what that move means I'd like to know," mused Rosemary.

It was rather a puzzle to her and her brother. All they were sure of was what they saw--that the Yaquis had separated, most of them following Paz, while the captives were left in charge of the villainous Mike and his selected followers.

Rosemary slipped her hand into her pocket to feel the handle of her automatic.

CHAPTER XIX

THE FIGHT

The discovery of the Indian trail, and the unmistakable evidence that the marks had been left by a band of Yaquis, was the most encouraging news the boy ranchers and their friends had received since starting out to rescue Rosemary and Floyd. It was a fortunate meeting with the U.S.

Troopers.

"Only for that," observed Bud, as he rode along with his cousins, "we'd have been way off. We were headed just in the opposite direction when we took to cover thinking the Yaquis were coming after us."

"Yes, and the longer we traveled the farther off we'd be," agreed Nort.

"It's lucky all around."

"It'll be luckier when we come up to this band of Greasers and take Rosemary and Floyd away," declared d.i.c.k.

"Just think!" exulted Nort. "We'll soon be taking part in a real Indian fight! I didn't think there could be such a thing outside of a novel."

"Are these Yaquis real Indians?" asked d.i.c.k. "They don't impress me that way. Seems more like fighting some low down colored men."

"I wouldn't insult a decent negro by comparing him to an Indian of the present Yaquis tribe," laughed Bud. "They aren't at all alike. But the Yaquis are real Indians of one of the Mexican races--a race that was once among the best. Of course, even then, they weren't like our American Indians."

"I guess I'm looking for tomahawks and scalping knives and listening for warwhoops!" admitted d.i.c.k. "I have an Indian stone pipe home, with a long flat stem, made of a piece of oak, with designs burned in it.

Around one end are wound some red and blue beads, and the stem has some old faded ribbons tied to it. Have the Yaquis anything like that?" he asked Bud.

"Not that I know of. The present generation smoke cigarettes when they can get 'em, something no self-respecting American Indian would dream of. Maybe the Yaquis have some such ceremony as smoking the peace pipe, but I don't know about it. I never saw any of their stone pipes.

I know the kind you mean, d.i.c.k. The pipe part is hollowed out with a small hole--hardly holds enough tobacco for a good smoke, I'd say, though I never tried it."

"That's the kind," d.i.c.k said. "Well, to my mind, these Yaquis aren't half so--so--well, you know what I mean," he concluded, at loss for the right word.

"Picturesque," suggested his brother.