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Updated: June 3, 2025
As for me " "We'll hit the glory trail together, muchacho. If you get bumped off, it's your own funeral. You should have stayed in Sonora." Ramon sighed. The señor was a strange man. Even now he hummed a song in the starlight. Was he, then, so unafraid of death that he could sing in the very shadow of its wings? "You've got a hunch that the rurales are on our trail," said Waring, as they rode on.
"Ah, senor, he who so writes is Bernal I am his compadre. He has his mother now, but no father, no father." He smiled. "You have never seen so bold and enterprising, never so handsome a boy. He can throw the lasso and use the lariat, and ride sabe Dios, he can ride! His cousin Gerado the Rurales taught him. I do well by him as I may, who have other things to think on. But I do well by him."
Just before dawn Ramon awakened and touched Waring. "They are coming!" he whispered. Waring shook his head. "You hear our horses. The rurales won't ride into this pocket before daylight. Stay right here till I come back." He rose and worked cautiously down the eastern slope, searching for Dex in the valley. In the gray gloom he saw the outline of his horse grazing alone. He stepped down to him.
Dave Henderson, arrested for the murder of the Rurales policeman, was still serving time in a Mexican prison for another man's crime. There in Chihuahua for fifteen years he had been lost to the world in that underground hole, blotted out from life so effectually that few now remembered there had been such a person. It was horrible, unthinkable, but none the less true.
Whenever an uprising started, it was promptly quelled, either by a well-disciplined army or by the rurales, a mounted police made up to some extent of former bandits to whom the President gave the choice of police service or of sharp punishment for their crimes. Order, in fact, was not always maintained, nor was justice always meted out, by recourse to judges and courts.
And because he had to count upon possibilities far ahead he drew Ramon's saddle to him and cut the stirrup-leathers, cinchas, and latigos. If Ramon got one of their horses, his own jaded animal would be left. Eventually the rurales would find the saddle and Ramon's horse. And every rural out of the riding would be a factor in their escape.
Then, as if by magic, the figure of a rural stood clear and straight against the distant background of brownish-green. Waring smiled. He knew that if he were to fire, the rurales would rush him. They suspected some kind of a trap. Waring's one chance was to wait until they had given up every ruse to draw his fire.
When Waring returned to the chaparral, Ramon was asleep, flat on his back, his arms outspread and his mouth open. Waring touched him with his boot. Ramon muttered. Waring stooped and pulled him up. Within the hour five rurales disembarked from a box-car and crossed to the water-hole, where one of them dismounted and searched for tracks.
Gale heard the click of pool balls and the clink of glasses along the crowded bar. Bare-legged, sandal-footed Mexicans in white rubbed shoulders with Mexicans mantled in black and red. There were others in tight-fitting blue uniforms with gold fringe or tassels at the shoulders. These men wore belts with heavy, bone-handled guns, and evidently were the rurales, or native policemen.
"What shall you do with Bernal the boy when he grows up?" added Sherry presently. "There is the question for my mind, senor," he answered. "He would be a toreador already has he served the matador in the ring, though I did not know it, foolish boy! But I would have him in the Rurales." Here he fetched out and handed us a bottle of mescal. Sherry lifted his glass.
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