Part 19 (1/2)

”Ugh!” grunted Paz, and there was open admiration on his rascally face.

He talked rapidly to Mike and some of the latter's companions who had gathered around, and there was no further attempt to take Floyd away from Rosemary.

The latter, however, was on her guard, for she feared they would rush her, and try to take away her weapon, the unexpected display of which, as much as her cleverness in shooting away the hat of Paz, had held the Indians at bay for the necessary reaction to take place.

”Yo' all right!” grunted Paz with another grin, while one of his followers picked up the hat, looking curiously at the bullet hole through it: ”Yo' smart gal!”

”Sure did have your nerve with you!” complimented Floyd, as he stood beside his sister. ”I wish I had my gun!”

”It's probably just as well you didn't have,” she said with a smile--rather a wan and weary one it must be admitted.

”Why?” demanded Floyd. ”I'm as good a shot as you are.”

”I know it. But in matters of this kind ruffians will stand for more from a girl or woman than they would from a man. If you had drawn a gun they probably would have shot you down without a moment's hesitation. But when I pulled mine it took them off their feet, so to speak.”

”I wish it would take off a lot of their ugly heads, and their dirty bodies, too!” grunted Floyd. ”Say, Rose, what are we going to do?

This is a terrible pickle to be in.”

”It's better to be in a pickle, for that's a sort of preservative, Floyd,” she joked, though how she had the heart to do this she herself scarcely realized. ”As long as they keep us in pickle there's some hope,” she went on, with a tired little laugh. ”But when they take us out--well, I'll be glad to have my gun,” she added grimly.

She still held the weapon, but it was evident that she was not going to be obliged to use it again at once, either for intimidation or actual defence. Paz waved to her to put it away, and she did, slipping it into a pocket of her skirt.

It was a pocket she had had made for just such a purpose as carrying a gun where the ordinary observer would not see it. And if you have ever hunted for a pocket in your mother's or sister's skirt, and given up in disgust, you will understand that the subterfuge of Rosemary was not as simple as at first appears. Of course she realized that if they had been desperately bent on finding her weapon the Yaquis could have taken it from her. But they evidently did not dream that she had one. And, now, when she had given a demonstration of how quickly she could draw and use it, they would be a bit careful of how they approached her.

Floyd's weapon, of course had been taken from him almost at once. He had been taken unawares or this might not have been the case. But it was probably better, under the circ.u.mstances, that he had no gun. Or, as Rosemary had said, he might have rashly fired and the answering shots from the Indians might have killed both of the captives.

”Go on!” Paz said to Rosemary, indicating that she and her brother might remain together.

She had brought about what she intended.

The captives were led farther in among the rocks to a sort of natural cave, and there they were left, some food having been tossed down where they could reach it. It was the most primitive sort of a prison, so simple, in fact, that after a while Floyd said:

”What's to hinder us walking away from here, Rosemary? They aren't watching us, and if we pack some of this grub--rotten as it is--maybe we can get away, and reach Diamond X ranch.”

”I'm afraid we'd have small chance of that,” Rosemary answered wearily.

”What I'm in hopes of is that some one will come to the rescue. I'm sure my note will bring us help.”

”Yes, but _when_?” asked Floyd, a bit fretfully. ”It may be too late.

I'm going to see if we can't get away. Stay here and I'll crawl up to the top of the rock and see what the situation is.”

”I think you'll find it isn't as easy as it looks,” said his sister.

Nor was it. In the first place the climb up the jagged rocks was wearisome, but Floyd managed it. But when he was at the top, and looked over to see if there was a trail of escape, he was unpleasantly surprised by a piece of stone hitting him sharply on the head.

At first he thought it was a fragment of rock dropping from above, perhaps dislodged by his exertions. But there was no rock over his head. He was at the highest peak in that immediate vicinity.

Then the lad's eyes roved about and he saw, sitting in a natural niche of the stone, not far from him, a greasy Indian, who held his hand poised to toss another stone at Floyd.