"We'll load!" offered Nort and d.i.c.k.

So the boy ranchers, like the Three Guardsmen "all for one and one for all," stuck together.

"There's going to be hard work--and danger ahead of us," Snake had said, and Captain Marshall bore him out in this.

"That's what we came for," declared Nort.

"Surest thing you know!" a.s.sented his brother, and Bud nodded his a.s.sent.

So they moved forward again.

This time they were working toward a more certain object than when they were out scouting around to pick up the trail of the Yaquis.

Now they must make their way back to where the party, with Rosemary and Floyd as prisoners, had separated from the main body.

This was comparatively simple as regards tracing the way Paz and his followers had descended the mountain into the valley of the plain where the last fight and surrender had taken place. But when the trail of Mike and his men was located--then would come the real test.

The way grew more rough as they proceeded back along the route taken by the fleeing main body of Yaquis. It was an ascending trail, over a path that was possible only to the tough western ponies.

Fortunately they had an ample supply of provisions and the water supply was adequate, which was a vital necessity. The only hardship in the way of grub was on the horses, the herbage being scanty at times, so that as much speed as was desired could not be made, detours being necessary in order to come upon fodder for the steeds.

This caused them to spend more time on the route than they desired and each hour of delay made the boy ranchers more and more apprehensive for the safety of their captured cousins. However it could not be helped.

Certain precautions must be observed if the band of rescuers was to arrive efficient enough to cope with the Yaquis. Though not a quarter of the original body was now in charge of Rosemary and Floyd, they were picked fighters, so Buck Tooth had learned. And they probably would make a stand in some natural fastness which vantage point would be hard to attack and turn.

Through two long, hot weary days the march of the rescuers was kept up, and they were all glad when night came that they might camp and be at rest.

"But we've struck the branching trail," Bud said to his cousins. "All we have to do now is to keep on until we corner the beggars, and get Rosemary and Floyd away from them."

Bud had sized up the situation correctly, though it remains to be stated that it was easier said than done. By carefully noting the "sign" along the way, the cowboys and soldiers had reached the place where the selected band had ridden away with their captives. And this was the trail now being followed.

There was more than hard work--hard work followed hard work--and there was danger. It had been hard from the very start--from the time the boy ranchers had left after the first wild alarm over the kidnapping of Rosemary and Floyd. They had been keyed up to high tension all the while, and this, in itself, if you have ever experienced it, is wearing. There had been absolutely no time for light enjoyment--none of the humor of the cowboys had a chance to manifest itself.

Aside from an occasional burst into song the way had been grim and weary. There was nothing to lighten it, for over all hung the apprehension that something dreadful would befall Rosemary and her brother.

And that dread was still present.

Even at the very end of the trail it might be found that all their efforts had been in vain, and that the Yaquis, driven into a panic of fear, had ended the lives of their captives.

So there was this nerve-racking pall of gloom hanging over all, and to this was added the hard physical work of keeping to a difficult trail, with danger besetting on every hand.

That there was danger, not the most optimistic of them would have denied. There was danger in urging one's horse up a narrow path overhanging some gorge.

There was danger that some lurking Yaqui, unable to keep up with the main body of Mike's men, might send a bullet into the back of one of the rescuers. Or Mike could have posted a party in ambush at any one of a dozen places along the trail, there to surprise and kill off a number of the vengeful whites following him.

All this made it exceedingly hard for the boy ranchers and their friends, but they were never daunted. On they urged their weary ponies, and the trail was as hard on horseflesh as it was on man and youth.

Still no one complained. Even Bud bore without remark the pain of his wounded hand, and it was a most painful injury. However Captain Marshall had no small skill with what primitive remedies they had with them, and he saved Bud from the necessity of a surgical operation later, as the wound was kept clean, so that it healed from within.

Though once, when it had grown shut, with the possible danger of pus forming within, and had to be opened, poor Bud saw everything getting black before his eyes. And it was only by gritting his teeth, and remembering how, it was said, Indians bit bullets in twain in the excess of their agony before uttering a groan, that the lad prevented himself from fainting under the captain's ministrations.

So night settled down on the second day of their rush forward on the trail of Mike and those he held captive.

"You get to bed and take it easy," Nort said to Bud, when the latter talked of standing guard, after camp had been made.

"That's right," agreed d.i.c.k. "There's enough of us without you."

"But I don't want to be a quitter!" Bud said. "And we're so close to Mike and his gang now--or we ought to be--that there may be an attack any hour."

"The Yaquis won't attack at night," declared Rolling Stone. "They're too lazy!"

This, indeed, is characteristic of many Indian tribes, though perhaps the real reason may be based on superst.i.tion instead of objection to exertion.

However, Bud allowed himself to be pursuaded to take his ease rolled up in his blankets. There were no tents, and, in fact, none were really needed, for though the nights were cooler than the days, a blanket and a fire made every man comfortable.

So night settled down, the stars came out, the cooling wind blew the smoke of the camp fire here and there and the posted sentries walked their beats, waiting for what might happen.

That they were near to the hiding place of Mike, and, it was hoped, of the captives too, could not be doubted. The trail had become more fresh with every mile traversed.

"He's gone into some cave to hold off as long as possible," was the opinion of Captain Marshall.

Nort and d.i.c.k had adjoining posts. They had been selected for the first four hours of duty, from 8 to 12 o'clock, and it was near that last hour when Nort, coming back from having reached the end of his beat, called softly to his brother.

"Did you hear anything?" asked Nort.

"What do you mean?" asked d.i.c.k in turn.

"Well, like some one walking. Listen!"

CHAPTER XXIII

THE LAST STAND

The boy ranchers--only two of them now, for Bud was taking a much-needed rest, stood silent in the darkness, on one edge of the camp. They listened "with all their ears," for they were, if not exactly in the enemy's territory, at least within striking distance of the Yaquis, and every precaution must be taken.

So when Nort whispered to d.i.c.k that a suspicious noise had been heard, d.i.c.k was only too ready to believe it.

"Where did you hear it?" d.i.c.k asked in a cautious voice when, after several seconds of intent listening, neither had caught a sound.

"Off there," replied Nort rather vaguely, pointing to the darkness ahead of them--a darkness where the rays of several camp fires did not penetrate, and which the starlight did not seem to pierce.

"I don't hear anything," went on d.i.c.k. "Maybe it was only the wind.

We don't want to give an alarm and--"

"Hark!" interrupted his brother in a low but tense voice.