La Nogalique is a town in Arizona, just on the Mexican border. In fact so close is it that in places only a barbed wire fence separates the possessions of Uncle Sam from those of the Mexican republic. And outside of town even the wire fence "petered out," so there was nothing--no natural boundary--to tell where citizens were under the protection of the stars and stripes or under the domain of the descendants of Montezuma.

What had happened, just as Rosemary and Floyd suspected, was that the Yaquis--never very peaceable--had risen in one of their periodic raids.

They frequently hold up the Southern Pacific trains, kill and rob the pa.s.sengers and take what express matter they like.

This band, probably weary of making war on the none too resisting Mexican soldiery, had crossed the border, and "shot up" La Nogalique.

When it was learned that one of the cowboys of the town had ridden to bring some United States troops from a nearby station, Paz, one of the leaders, had set out with his followers to capture the rider. They had come upon Rosemary and her brother with the result detailed.

"But why are they riding back into town with us?" Floyd wanted to know.

"Mexico is south of La Nogalique," answered Rosemary. "They have to ride through it to get back to Mexico, and they--they're taking us with them!"

There was a gasp in her voice.

"We've got to do something!" desperately cried Floyd. He strained at his bonds, but uselessly.

Paz turned and shouted something in anger, but Floyd gave him back fully as black a look as the one on the Yaqui leader's face. At least Floyd was going to maintain a bold front.

Down the slope and into the small town rode the Indians with their captives. Now the sound of shooting and shouting became louder. It was evident that some of the Americans were making a stand against the Indians. The Americans were firing from houses and other shelter, the Indians riding here and there, aiming whenever they saw anyone at whom to shoot. Several evidently dead bodies were in the streets, the proportion being about equal between the Americans and the Indians.

Rosemary could not repress a shudder as she saw, in one doorway, a dead woman and a little girl.

How the fight started, whether it could have been avoided, and what the town officials had done or were doing, were only matters for surmise.

"There was a fight but I guess the Indians were too many for our fellows," grimly said Floyd, as his horse was led along. He had managed to keep close to Rosemary.

"It looks that way," the girl said. "Oh, Floyd! If we could only get word to our folks or Uncle Henry!"

"I don't see how we can," said Floyd. "When night comes maybe we can break away, but--"

He did not finish. It was a desperate hope as he and Rosemary well knew.

Suddenly, when the centre of the town was reached by the band having taken our friends captive, there was a burst of fire, mingled with shouts of defiance. Out of one of the buildings burst a band of American cowboys and others. They had gathered together to make a stand, and this was their chance.

Several of the Indians fell from their saddles, and others, though wounded, managed to retain their seats. Bullets flew about Rosemary and Floyd, fortunately not hitting them, but coming too close for comfort.

Paz and his followers were evidently taken by surprise, and for a moment did not return the fire. Then, as it increased the Indians turned and began fleeing up the trail they had just descended, taking Rosemary and Floyd with them. Evidently they not only thought there might be danger in making a stand against the intrepid Americans, but perhaps they reasoned that they had captives too valuable to risk losing in another pitched fight.

At any rate Paz gave the orders to retreat, and his men obeyed.

Rosemary and Floyd saw what was happening. Helpless, they were carried away into the mountains.

True it was United States territory, but for all the good that did the captives, it might as well have been Mexico. There were no troops or other help at hand.

Paz rode on ahead, and directly behind him came his more trusted followers surrounding Rosemary and Floyd.

Suddenly Paz and his lieutenants (if such they might be called) in the lead, were thrown back in confusion as shots rang out, and Floyd and his sister had a glimpse of some cowboys riding down the trail, as if to give battle.

"Hurray! Now we're all right. This is a rescue! The troopers are coming!" shouted Floyd.

But though the valiant cowboys made a brave stand they were too few to cope with the Indians. It developed, later, that they were a stray band who had been told of the trouble by the lone cowboy who was riding after the troops. The band of punchers, resolving to do their best, had spurred to the fight, but were overwhelmed.

Two were killed and another wounded. And this youth--he was but that in years--managed to break through the first line of Indians like a football player with the ball smashing the interference of the opposing team.

Right to the side of Rosemary and Floyd he galloped, and then the girl had a flash of inspiration. Quickly she managed to take from her pocket a notebook, and, one of the ropes coming loose from her hand, she was able to scribble on a torn out page this message:

"Get word to my uncle, Henry Merkel, Diamond X Ranch, that Floyd and I are taken. Ask him to send help."

She rolled this into a ball, and as the cowboy lurched past her she thrust it into his hand.

"Ride! Ride away!" Rosemary fairly shouted in his ear, for there was so much noise of shooting and yelling that she had to cry loudly to make herself understood.

"I'm going to stay and fight!" cried the youth recklessly.

"You can't! They're too many! Ride and bring help! Deliver my message!" pleaded Rosemary. "It's the best way to help us!"

Then, as Paz, wild and furious, rode up with pistol aimed at the cowboy, the latter fired his last shot, full in the face of the Indian leader, wheeled his horse, and managed to dash away.

How Paz escaped no one knew, but the shot only grazed him, and with mutterings he threw aside his own empty weapon, and spurred after the bold cowboy. But the horse of Paz slipped, while the steed of the American, being more sure footed, carried him out of danger.

He vanished around a turn in the trail, and Paz swung back to his own men, several of whom had been wounded, and one killed by the bold, dashing American cowboys.

Then, when this little "fracas" was over, Rosemary and Floyd were again led forward, into the mountain fastness, prisoners of the Yaquis.

While, miles away, the boy ranchers were totally unaware of the tragic happenings.

"What did you do, Rose?" asked Floyd, in a low voice, as the trail was resumed.

"I scribbled a note and sent it by that cowboy. He'll bring help if he can."

"Well, I hope he can. If they don't get him, or he doesn't lose your note."

But the message was delivered and was the means of spurring into action those at Diamond X ranch.

CHAPTER VIII

SHOOTING STARS

Contrary to what was usual when a band of cowboys, including Bud, Nort, and d.i.c.k, started off on the trail, there was very little singing, laughing and joking as they gave their ponies rein to begin pursuit after the kidnapping Yaquis. Even the lightest-spirited cowpuncher felt the gravity of the situation, though, save for the three boy ranchers, none had ever seen Rosemary and Floyd. And it was so long ago that Bud, Nort and d.i.c.k had met these western cousins that they scarcely remembered them.

"But we'd hit the trail for the rescue whether they were our cousins or not!" declared Bud Merkel, as he kicked his heels against the flanks of his pony, and sent that steady-going animal forward with a rush.

"Whoa there, son, whoa there!" advised Snake Purdee who was in leadership of the party.

"That's right," chimed in Yellin' Kid, with his usual strident tones.

"Take it easy, Bud, We've got a long, hard trail ahead of us, and we haven't any spare horses."

"I didn't intend to start a race," spoke Bud, as he slowed up and waited for Nort and d.i.c.k. "I was just wishing I could kick some of those greasy Mexican Indians, and it must have been a sort of reflex action on my part that gave Toot a tap in the ribs," and he patted his pony, no very handsome steed, but a sticker on a long trail. Bud had taught his pony to run out of the corral at the blowing of a horn, hence the name "Toot."