Part 15 (1/2)
”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.