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Pete ran to signal from the nearest window. His companion hurried to make certain that Farley was dead. Slade shouldered past the half-bound Carmena and came to stare gloatingly down at Lennon. Between his thick legs Lennon saw Carmena twist about and roll over toward her terror-stricken sister. Slade was too intent upon mocking his other prisoner to look about at the girls.
A hard ride down the cañon for five miles or more, then up a steep break and across cedar-dotted mesas, brought the party out to the Moqui trail shortly after mid-morning. Lennon frowned at the clear-marked trail. His plans as first made had been to cut and run for the railway the moment he should reach the main trail.
One of these chunky, square-jawed gents, Captain Lennon is, and about as sociable as a traffic cop on duty. His job is runnin' the yacht, and he sticks to it. "Captain," says Mr. Ellins, "I want to know something about your crew. What are they like, now?" The Cap looks sort of puzzled. "Why, they're all right, I guess," says he. "Please don't guess," cuts in Auntie.
Even now, down beneath them at the foot of this ancient cliff refuge, the leader of the renegades was futilely cursing. Lennon was a white man, and he had proved himself not a quitter. The girl had been overwrought by their terrible flight. That she should fancy herself beginning to fall in love with him was quite understandable.
Carmena looked at it, nodded understandingly, and hastened out, with a significant glance for Lennon. He was not altogether reassured. After a few moments he followed her along the front row of the cliff house rooms. He was close enough to hear the talk that followed when she joined Cochise and Slade at the padlocked door.
A guttural command in Navaho and a careless wave of the revolver brought Pete and his wounded but still active companion hurrying forward. Carmena sprang up and held out her arms to the trader. Lennon failed to see her face. He saw only how Slade swept his left arm about the girl and swung her around in a bearlike embrace. Lennon sought to leap up.
She sent a clear call ringing up the cliff. At once the hoist rope began to reeve down through the pulley of the crane. The rope ladder soon lowered from the other opening. Both saddles were fastened to the hoist hook. But Lennon thrust his rifle through the back of his cartridge belt. They found Farley in the doorway, nervously peering down the valley after the Indians.
Slade's ham-like hand came down upon Farley's stooped shoulder in a thwack that doubled the invalid over and set him to coughing. "Brace up, Dad," the trader-cowman rallied him in his bull voice. "You're not dead yet. Good thing for us your bark's worse'n your bite. Huh, Cochise?" His massive body shook with a roar of laughter at the joke. "This is Mr. Lennon our guest," Carmena again interposed.
I'll try to find Elsie for you. I think I know where she's hidden." Lennon stared, more than ever filled with horror of her treachery. "You you!" he grasped. "That child give her, to save that scoundrel?" "And ourselves," added Carmena, her lips curved in a cajoling smile at Cochise. "When I've found her and the tizwin we'll be friends. Won't we, Cochise?" "Sure.
The thwack and screech of a glanced bullet that flicked a spurt of gravel into Lennon's face, warned him that the Navahos were not doing all the firing. Though so many of the Apaches had been killed in the surprise of the counter attack, the survivors of the band still outnumbered the rescuers two or three to one. Lennon knew enough to creep back under the round of the dam.
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