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Updated: June 9, 2025
Lash's voice died away in a husky whisper, and he quietly lay back, stretching out all but the crippled leg. Gale examined it, assured himself the bones had not been broken, and then rose ready to go down the trail. "Mercedes, hold Thorne's head up, in your lap so. Now I'll go." On the moment Yaqui appeared to have completed the binding of his wounded shoulder, and he started to follow Gale.
The impression that O'Connor got of Carlo was not a reassuring one. The man was a military despot, apparently, and a stickler for discipline. He had a hanging face, and, in the Yaqui war, had won the nickname of "the butcher" for his merciless treatment of captured natives.
There was a great deal more to the letter, but at first Janice could not go on with it for surprise. The clerkly writer with the abundance of flowery phrases, Juan Dicampa was, then, a Mexican chieftain perhaps a half-breed Yaqui murderer! The thought rather startled Janice. Yet she was thankful to remember how warmly the man had written of her father.
Gale was in the rear of all the other horses, so as to take, for Mercedes's sake, the advantage of the broken trail. Yaqui was leading Diablo, winding around a break. His head was bent as he stepped slowly and unevenly upon the lava. Gale turned to look back, the first time in several days.
"Ask Yaqui to tell us where the raiders are headin', an' if there's water." It was wonderful to see the Yaqui point. His dark hand stretched, he sighted over his stretched finger at a low white escarpment in the distance. Then with a stick he traced a line in the sand, and then at the end of that another line at right angles.
I learned it off of a Yaqui Mayo Indian that had been riding for Bill Greene on the Turkey-track I rubbed it with a little salt." "Well, I'm a son of a gun!" exclaimed Creede incredulously. "Here we've been gittin' our fingers bit off for forty years and never thought of a little thing like that. Got any more tricks?"
Personally, I think they are noble and intelligent, and if let alone would be peaceable and industrious. I like the few I've known. But they are a doomed race. Have you any idea what ailed this Yaqui before the raider got in his work?" "No, I haven't. I noticed the Indian seemed in bad shape; but I couldn't tell what was the matter with him." "Well, my idea is another personal one.
If thorns pierced his legs he felt the pain all over his body; if his hands rose from a fall full of the barbed joints, he was helpless and quivering till Yaqui tore them out. But this one peril, dreaded more than dizzy height of precipice or sunblindness on the glistening peak, did not daunt Gale.
The look in Thorne's eyes was hard to bear. "Thorne! Thorne! it's all right, it's all right!" cried Gale, in piercing tones. "Mercedes is safe! Yaqui saved her! Rojas is done for! Yaqui jumped down the wall and drove the bandit off the ledge. Cut him loose from the wall, foot by foot, hand by hand! We've won the fight, Thorne." For Thorne these were marvelous strength-giving words.
Gale thrilled as he gazed piercingly into the wonderful eyes of this Indian. Would Yaqui never consider his debt paid? "Go me?" repeat the Indian, pointing with the singular directness that always made this action remarkable in him. "Yes, Yaqui." Gale ran to his room, put on hobnailed boots, filled a canteen, and hurried back to the corral. Yaqui awaited him.
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