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Desert Gold by Zane Grey

Part 3 out of 7

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Then Gale led his horse up out of the waterhole, and decided
before remounting to have a look at the Indians. The Papago had
been shot through the heart, but the Yaqui was still alive.
Moreover, he was conscious and staring up at Gale with great,
strange, somber eyes, black as volcanic slag.

"Gringo good--no kill," he said, in husky whisper.

His speech was not affirmative so much as questioning.

"Yaqui, you're done for," said Gale, and his words were positive.
He was simply speaking aloud his mind.

"Yaqui--no hurt--much," replied the Indian, and then he spoke a
strange word--repeated it again and again.

An instinct of Gale's, or perhaps some suggestion in the husky,
thick whisper or dark face, told Gale to reach for his canteen.
He lifted the Indian and gave him a drink, and if ever in all his
life he saw gratitude in human eyes he saw it then. Then he
examined the injured Yaqui, not forgetting for an instant to send
wary, fugitive glances on all sides. Gale was not surprised. The
Indian had three wounds--a bullet hole in his shoulder, a crushed
arm, and a badly lacerated leg. What had been the matter with
him before being set upon by the raider Gale could not be certain.

The ranger thought rapidly. This Yaqui would live unless left there
to die or be murdered by the Mexicans when they found courage to
sneak back to the well. It never occurred to Gale to abandon the
poor fellow. That was where his old training, the higher order of
human feeling, made impossible the following of any elemental instinct
of self-preservation. All the same, Gale knew he multiplied his
perils a hundredfold by burdening himself with a crippled Indian.
Swiftly he set to work, and with rifle ever under his hand, and
shifting glance spared from his task, he bound up the Yaqui's
wounds. At the same time he kept keen watch.

The Indians' burros and the horses of the raiders were all out
of sight. Time was too valuable for Gale to use any in what might
be a vain search. Therefore, he lifted the Yaqui upon Sol's broad
shoulders and climbed into the saddle. At a word Sol dropped
his head and started eastward up the trail, walking swiftly,
without resentment for his double burden.

Far ahead, between two huge mesas where the trail mounted over
a pass, a long line of dust clouds marked the position of the horses
that had escaped from the corral. Those that had been stolen would
travel straight and true for home, and perhaps would lead the others
with them. The raiders were left on the desert without guns or

Blanco Sol walked or jog-trotted six miles to the hour. At that
gait fifty miles would not have wet or turned a hair of his dazzling
white coat. Gale, bearing in mind the ever-present possibility of
encountering more raiders and of being pursued, saved the strength
of the horse. Once out of sight of Papago Well, Gale dismounted
and walked beside the horse, steadying with one firm hand the
helpless, dangling Yaqui.

The sun cleared the eastern ramparts, and the coolness of morning
fled as if before a magic foe. The whole desert changed. The grays
wore bright; the mesquites glistened; the cactus took the silver
hue of frost, and the rocks gleamed gold and red. Then, as the
heat increased, a wind rushed up out of the valley behind Gale,
and the hotter the sun blazed down the swifter rushed the wind.
The wonderful transparent haze of distance lost its bluish hue for
one with tinge of yellow. Flying sand made the peaks dimly outlined.

Gale kept pace with his horse. He bore the twinge of pain that
darted through his injured hip at every stride. His eye roved
over the wide, smoky prospect seeking the landmarks he knew.
When the wild and bold spurs of No Name Mountains loomed through
a rent in flying clouds of sand he felt nearer home. Another hour
brought him abreast of a dark, straight shaft rising clear from a
beetling escarpment. This was a monument marking the international
boundary line. When he had passed it he had his own country under
foot. In the heat of midday he halted in the shade of a rock, and,
lifting the Yaqui down, gave him a drink. Then, after a long,
sweeping survey of the surrounding desert, he removed Sol's saddle
and let him roll, and took for himself a welcome rest and a bite
to eat.

The Yaqui was tenacious of life. He was still holding his own.
For the first time Gale really looked at the Indian to study him.
He had a large head nobly cast, and a face that resembled a
shrunken mask. It seemed chiseled in the dark-red, volcanic lava
of his Sooner wilderness. The Indian's eyes were always black
and mystic, but this Yaqui's encompassed all the tragic desolation
of the desert. They were fixed on Gale, moved only when he moved.
The Indian was short and broad, and his body showed unusual
muscular development, although he seemed greatly emaciated from
starvation or illness.

Gale resumed his homeward journey. When he got through the pass
he faced a great depression, as rough as if millions of gigantic
spikes had been driven by the hammer of Thor into a seamed and
cracked floor. This was Altar Valley. It was a chaos of arroyo's,
canyons, rocks, and ridges all mantled with cactus, and at its
eastern end it claimed the dry bed of Forlorn River and water
when there was any.

With a wounded, helpless man across the saddle, this stretch of thorny
and contorted desert was practically impassable. Yet Gale headed into
it unflinchingly. He would carry the Yaqui as far as possible, or
until death make the burden no longer a duty. Blanco Sol plodded on
over the dragging sand, up and down the steep, loose banks of washes,
out on the rocks, and through the rows of white-tooled choyas.

The sun sloped westward, bending fiercer heat in vengeful, parting
reluctance. The wind slackened. The dust settled. And the bold,
forbidding front of No Name Mountains changed to red and gold.
Gale held grimly by the side of the tireless, implacable horse,
holding the Yaqui on the saddle, taking the brunt of the merciless
thorns. In the end it became heartrending toil. His heavy chaps
dragged him down; but he dared not go on without them, for,
thick and stiff as they were, the terrible, steel-bayoneted spikes
of the choyas pierced through to sting his legs.

To the last mile Gale held to Blanco Sol's gait and kept
ever-watchful gaze ahead on the trail. Then, with the low, flat
houses of Forlorn River shining red in the sunset, Gale flagged
and rapidly weakened. The Yaqui slipped out of the saddle and
dropped limp in the sand. Gale could not mount his horse. He
clutched Sol's long tail and twisted his hand in it and staggered on.

Blanco Sol whistled a piercing blast. He scented cool water and
sweet alfalfa hay. Twinkling lights ahead meant rest. The
melancholy desert twilight rapidly succeeded the sunset. It
accentuated the forlorn loneliness of the gray, winding river of
sand and its grayer shores. Night shadows trooped down from the
black and looming mountains.



"A CRIPPLED Yaqui! Why the hell did you saddle yourself with him?"
roared Belding, as he laid Gale upon the bed.

Belding had grown hard these late, violent weeks.

"Because I chose," whispered Gale, in reply. "Go after him--he
dropped in the trail--across the river--near the first big saguaro."

Belding began to swear as he fumbled with matches and the lamp;
but as the light flared up he stopped short in the middle of a word.

"You said you weren't hurt?" he demanded, in sharp anxiety, as he
bent over Gale.

"I'm only--all in....Will you go--or send some one--for the Yaqui?"

"Sure, Dick, sure," Belding replied, in softer tones. Then he
stalked out; his heels rang on the flagstones; he opened a door
and called: "Mother--girls, here's Dick back. He's done up....Now
--no, no, he's not hurt or in bad shape. You women!...Do what
you can to make him comfortable. I've got a little job on hand."

There were quick replies that Gale's dulling ears did not
distinguish. Then it seemed Mrs. Belding was beside his bed, her
presence so cool and soothing and helpful, and Mercedes and Nell,
wide-eyed and white-faced, were fluttering around him. He drank
thirstily, but refused food. He wanted rest. And with their faces
drifting away in a kind of haze, with the feeling of gentle hands
about him, he lost consciousness.

He slept twenty hours. then he arose, thirsty, hungry, lame,
overworn, and presently went in search of Belding and the business
of the day.

"Your Yaqui was near dead, but guess we'll pull him through," said
Belding. "Dick, the other day that Indian came here by rail and
foot and Lord only knows how else, all the way from New Orleans!
He spoke English better than most Indians, and I know a little
Yaqui. I got some of his story and guessed the rest. The Mexican
government is trying to root out the Yaquis. A year ago his tribe
was taken in chains to a Mexican port on the Gulf. The fathers,
mothers, children, were separated and put in ships bound for
Yucatan. There they were made slaves on the great henequen
plantations. They were driven, beaten, starved. Each slave had
for a day's rations a hunk of sour dough, no more. Yucatan is low,
marshy, damp, hot. The Yaquis were bred on the high, dry Sonoran
plateau, where the air is like a knife. They dropped dead in the
henequen fields, and their places were taken by more. You see,
the Mexicans won't kill outright in their war of extermination of
the Yaquis. They get use out of them. It's a horrible
thing....Well, this Yaqui you brought in escaped from his captors,
got aboard ship, and eventually reached New Orleans. Somehow
he traveled way out here. I gave him a bag of food, and he went
off with a Papago Indian. He was a sick man then. And he must
have fallen foul of some Greasers."

Gale told of his experience at Papago Well.

"That raider who tried to grind the Yaqui under a horse's hoofs--he
was a hyena!" concluded Gale, shuddering. "I've seen some blood
spilled and some hard sights, but that inhuman devil took my nerve.
Why, as I told you, Belding, I missed a shot at him--not twenty

"Dick, in cases like that the sooner you clean up the bunch the
better," said Belding, grimly. "As for hard sights--wait till you've
seen a Yaqui do up a Mexican. Bar none, that is the limit! It's
blood lust, a racial hate, deep as life, and terrible. The Spaniards
crushed the Aztecs four or five hundred years ago. That hate has had
time to grow as deep as a cactus root. The Yaquis are mountain
Aztecs. 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. Maybe it's off color. I
think that Yaqui was, or is, for that matter, dying of a broken
heart. All he wanted was to get back to his mountains and die.
There are no Yaquis left in that part of Sonora he was bound for."

"He had a strange look in his eyes," said Gale, thoughtfully.

"Yes, I noticed that. But all Yaquis have a wild look. Dick, if
I'm not mistaken, this fellow was a chief. It was a waste of
strength, a needless risk for you to save him, pack him back here.
but, damn the whole Greaser outfit generally, I'm glad you did!"

Gale remembered then to speak of his concern for Ladd.

"Laddy didn't go out to meet you," replied Belding. "I knew you
were due in any day, and, as there's been trouble between here
and Casita, I sent him that way. Since you've been out our friend
Carter lost a bunch of horses and a few steers. Did you get a good
look at the horses those raiders had at Papago Well?"

Dick had learned, since he had become a ranger, to see everything
with keen, sure, photographic eye; and, being put to the test so
often required of him, he described the horses as a dark-colored
drove, mostly bays and blacks, with one spotted sorrel.

"Some of Carter's--sure as you're born!" exclaimed Belding. "His
bunch has been split up, divided among several bands of raiders.
He has a grass ranch up here in Three Mile Arroyo. It's a good
long ride in U. S. territory from the border."

"Those horses I saw will go home, don't you think?" asked Dick.

"Sure. They can't be caught or stopped."

"Well, what shall I do now?"

"Stay here and rest," bluntly replied Belding. "You need it. Let
the women fuss over you--doctor you a little. When Jim gets back
from Sonoyta I'll know more about what we ought to do. By Lord!
it seems our job now isn't keeping Japs and Chinks out of the U. S.
It's keeping our property from going into Mexico."

"Are there any letters for me?" asked Gale.

"Letters! Say, my boy, it'd take something pretty important to
get me or any man here back Casita way. If the town is safe these
days the road isn't. It's a month now since any one went to

Gale had received several letters from his sister Elsie, the last of
which he had not answered. There had not been much opportunity
for writing on his infrequent returns to Forlorn River; and,
besides, Elsie had written that her father had stormed over what
he considered Dick's falling into wild and evil ways.

"Time flies," said Dick. "George Thorne will be free before long,
and he'll be coming out. I wonder if he'll stay here or try to take
Mercedes away?"

"Well, he'll stay right here in Forlorn River, if I have any say,"
replied Belding. "I'd like to know how he'd ever get that Spanish
girl out of the country now, with all the trails overrun by rebels
and raiders. It'd be hard to disguise her. Say, Dick, maybe we can
get Thorne to stay here. You know, since you've discovered the
possibility of a big water supply, I've had dreams of a future for
Forlorn River....If only this war was over! Dick, that's what it
is--war--scattered war along the northern border of Mexico from gulf
to gulf. What if it isn't our war? We're on the fringe. No, we
can't develop Forlorn River until there's peace."

The discovery that Belding alluded to was one that might very
well lead to the making of a wonderful and agricultural district
of Altar Valley. While in college Dick Gale had studied
engineering, but he had not set the scientific world afire with his
brilliance. Nor after leaving college had he been able to satisfy
his father that he could hold a job. Nevertheless, his smattering
of engineering skill bore fruit in the last place on earth where
anything might have been expected of it--in the desert. Gale had
always wondered about the source of Forlorn River. No white man
or Mexican, or, so far as known, no Indian, had climbed those
mighty broken steps of rock called No Name Mountains, from which
Forlorn River was supposed to come. Gale had discovered a long,
narrow, rock-bottomed and rock-walled gulch that could be dammed
at the lower end by the dynamiting of leaning cliffs above. An
inexhaustible supply of water could be stored there. Furthermore,
he had worked out an irrigation plan to bring the water down for
mining uses, and to make a paradise out of that part of Altar Valley
which lay in the United States. Belding claimed there was gold in
the arroyos, gold in the gulches, not in quantities to make a
prospector rejoice, but enough to work for. And the soil on the
higher levels of Altar Valley needed only water to make it grow
anything the year round. Gale, too, had come to have dreams of
a future for Forlorn River.

On the afternoon of the following day Ladd unexpectedly appeared
leading a lame and lathered horse into the yard. Belding and Gale,
who were at work at the forge, looked up and were surprised out
of speech. The legs of the horse were raw and red, and he seemed
about to drop. Ladd's sombrero was missing; he wore a bloody scarf
round his head; sweat and blood and dust had formed a crust on his
face; little streams of powdery dust slid from him; and the lower
half of his scarred chaps were full of broken white thorns.

"Howdy, boys," he drawled. "I shore am glad to see you all."

"Where'n hell's your hat?" demanded Belding, furiously. It was a
ridiculous greeting. But Belding's words signified little. The
dark shade of worry and solicitude crossing his face told more
than his black amaze.

The ranger stopped unbuckling the saddle girths, and, looking
at Belding, broke into his slow, cool laugh.

"Tom, you recollect that whopper of a saguaro up here where
Carter's trail branches off the main trail to Casita? Well, I
climbed it an' left my hat on top for a woodpecker's nest."

"You've been running--fighting?" queried Belding, as if Ladd had
not spoken at all.

"I reckon it'll dawn on you after a while," replied Ladd, slipping
the saddle.

"Laddy, go in the house to the women," said Belding. "I'll tend to
your horse."

"Shore, Tom, in a minute. I've been down the road. An' I found
hoss tracks an' steer tracks goin' across the line. But I seen no
sign of raiders till this mornin'. Slept at Carter's last night.
That raid the other day cleaned him out. He's shootin' mad. Well,
this mornin' I rode plumb into a bunch of Carter's hosses, runnin'
wild for home. Some Greasers were tryin' to head them round an'
chase them back across the line. I rode in between an' made
matters embarrassin'. Carter's hosses got away. Then me an' the
Greasers had a little game of hide an' seek in the cactus. I was on
the wrong side, an' had to break through their line to head toward
home. We run some. But I had a closer call than I'm stuck on

"Laddy, you wouldn't have any such close calls if you'd ride one
of my horses," expostulated Belding. "This broncho of yours
can run, and Lord knows he's game. But you want a big,
strong horse, Mexican bred, with cactus in his blood.
Take one of the bunch--Bull, White Woman, Blanco Jose."

"I had a big, fast horse a while back, but I lost him," said Ladd.
"This bronch ain't so bad. Shore Bull an' that white devil with
his Greaser name--they could run down my bronch, kill him in
a mile of cactus. But, somehow, Tom, I can't make up my mind to
take one of them grand white hosses. Shore I reckon I'm kinda
soft. An' mebbe I'd better take one before the raiders clean up
Forlorn River."

Belding cursed low and deep in his throat, and the sound resembled
muttering thunder. The shade of anxiety on his face changed to
one of dark gloom and passion. Next to his wife and daughter there
was nothing so dear to him as those white horses. His father and
grandfather--all his progenitors of whom he had trace--had been
lovers of horses. It was in Belding's blood.

"Laddy, before it's too late can't I get the whites away from the

"Mebbe it ain't too late; but where can we take them?"

"To San Felipe?"

"No. We've more chance to hold them here."

"To Casita and the railroad?"

"Afraid to risk gettin' there. An' the town's full of rebels who
need hosses."

"Then straight north?"

"Shore man, you're crazy. Ther's no water, no grass for a hundred
miles. I'll tell you, Tom, the safest plan would be to take the
white bunch south into Sonora, into some wild mountain valley.
Keep them there till the raiders have traveled on back east. Pretty
soon there won't be any rich pickin' left for these Greasers. An'
then they'll ride on to new ranges."

"Laddy, I don't know the trails into Sonora. An' I can't trust a
Mexican or a Papago. Between you and me, I'm afraid of this
Indian who herds for me."

"I reckon we'd better stick here, Tom....Dick, it's some good to
see you again. But you seem kinda quiet. Shore you get quieter
all the time. Did you see any sign of Jim out Sonoyta way?"

Then Belding led the lame horse toward the watering-trough,
while the two rangers went toward the house, Dick was telling
Ladd about the affair at Papago Well when they turned the corner
under the porch. Nell was sitting in the door. She rose with a
little scream and came flying toward them.

"Now I'll get it," whispered Ladd. "The women'll make a baby of
me. An' shore I can't help myself."

"Oh, Laddy, you've been hurt!" cried Nell, as with white cheeks
and dilating eyes she ran to him and caught his arm.

"Nell, I only run a thorn in my ear."

"Oh, Laddy, don't lie! You've lied before. I know you're hurt.
Come in to mother."

"Shore, Nell, it's only a scratch. My bronch throwed me."

"Laddy, no horse every threw you." The girl's words and accusing
eyes only hurried the ranger on to further duplicity.

"Mebbe I got it when I was ridin' hard under a mesquite, an' a
sharp snag--"

"You've been shot!...Mama, here's Laddy, and he's been shot!....Oh,
these dreadful days we're having! I can't bear them! Forlorn River
used to be so safe and quiet. Nothing happened. But now! Jim
comes home with a bloody hole in him--then Dick--then Laddy!....Oh,
I'm afraid some day they'll never come home."

The morning was bright, still, and clear as crystal. The heat waves
had not yet begun to rise from the desert.

A soft gray, white, and green tint perfectly blended lay like a
mantle over mesquite and sand and cactus. The canyons of distant
mountain showed deep and full of lilac haze.

Nell sat perched high upon the topmost bar of the corral gate. Dick
leaned beside her, now with his eyes on her face, now gazing out
into the alfalfa field where Belding's thoroughbreds grazed and
pranced and romped and whistled. Nell watched the horses. She
loved them, never tired of watching them. But her gaze was too
consciously averted from the yearning eyes that tried to meet hers
to be altogether natural.

A great fenced field of dark velvety green alfalfa furnished a rich
background for the drove of about twenty white horses. Even without
the horses the field would have presented a striking contrast to the
surrounding hot, glaring blaze of rock and sand. Belding had bred a
hundred or more horses from the original stock he had brought up
from Durango. His particular interest was in the almost
unblemished whites, and these he had given especial care. He made
a good deal of money selling this strain to friends among the
ranchers back in Texas. No mercenary consideration, however, could
have made him part with the great, rangy white horses he had gotten
from the Durango breeder. He called them Blanco Diablo (White
Devil), Blanco Sol (White Sun), Blanca Reina (White Queen), Blanca
Mujer (White Woman), and El Gran Toro Blanco (The Big White Bull).
Belding had been laughed at by ranchers for preserving the
sentimental Durango names, and he had been unmercifully ridiculed
by cowboys. But the names had never been changed.

Blanco Diablo was the only horse in the field that was not free to
roam and graze where he listed. A stake and a halter held him to
one corner, where he was severely let alone by the other horses.
He did not like this isolation. Blanco Diablo was not happy unless
he was running, or fighting a rival. Of the two he would rather fight.
If anything white could resemble a devil, this horse surely did. He had
nothing beautiful about him, yet he drew the gaze and held it. The look
of him suggested discontent, anger, revolt, viciousness. When he
was not grazing or prancing, he held his long, lean head level,
pointing his nose and showing his teeth. Belding's favorite was
almost all the world to him, and he swore Diablo could stand more
heat and thirst and cactus than any other horse he owned, and
could run down and kill any horse in the Southwest. The fact that
Ladd did not agree with Belding on these salient points was a great
disappointment, and also a perpetual source for argument. Ladd and
Lash both hated Diablo; and Dick Gale, after one or two narrow
escapes from being brained, had inclined to the cowboys' side of
the question.

El Gran Toro Blanco upheld his name. He was a huge, massive,
thick-flanked stallion, a kingly mate for his full-bodied, glossy
consort, Blanca Reina. The other mare, Blanca Mujer, was dazzling
white, without a spot, perfectly pointed, racy, graceful, elegant,
yet carrying weight and brawn and range that suggested her relation
to her forebears.

The cowboys admitted some of Belding's claims for Diablo, but they
gave loyal and unshakable allegiance to Blanco Sol. As for Dick, he
had to fight himself to keep out of arguments, for he sometimes
imagined he was unreasonable about the horse. Though he could not
understand himself, he knew he loved Sol as a man loved a friend,
a brother. Free of heavy saddle and the clumsy leg shields, Blanco
Sol was somehow all-satisfying to the eyes of the rangers. As long
and big as Diablo was, Sol was longer and bigger. Also, he was
higher, more powerful. He looked more a thing for action--speedier.
At a distance the honorable scars and lumps that marred his muscular
legs were not visible. He grazed aloof from the others, and did not
cavort nor prance; but when he lifted his head to whistle, how wild
he appeared, and proud and splendid! The dazzling whiteness of the
desert sun shone from his coat; he had the fire and spirit of the desert
in his noble head, its strength and power in his gigantic frame.

"Belding swears Sol never beat Diablo," Dick was saying.

"He believes it," replied Nell. "Dad is queer about that horse."

"But Laddy rode Sol once--made him beat Diablo. Jim saw the race."

Nell laughed. "I saw it, too. For that matter, even I have made
Sol put his nose before Dad's favorite."

"I'd like to have seen that. Nell, aren't you ever going to ride
with me?"

"Some day--when it's safe."


"I--I mean when the raiders have left the border."

"Oh, I'm glad you mean that," said Dick, laughing. "Well, I've often
wondered how Belding ever came to give Blanco Sol to me."

"He was jealous. I think he wanted to get rid of Sol."

"No? Why, Nell, he'd give Laddy or Jim one of the whites any day."

"Would he? Not Devil or Queen or White Woman. Never in this
world! But Dad has lots of fast horses the boys could pick from.
Dick, I tell you Dad wants Blanco Sol to run himself out--lose his
speed on the desert. Dad is just jealous for Diablo."

"Maybe. He surely has strange passion for horses. I think I
understand better than I used to. I owned a couple of racers
once. They were just animals to me, I guess. But Blanco Sol!"

"Do you love him?" asked Nell; and now a warm, blue flash of eyes
swept his face.

"Do I? Well, rather."

"I'm glad. Sol has been finer, a better horse since you
owned him. He loves you, Dick. He's always watching for you.
See him raise his head. That's for you. I know as much about
horses as Dad or Laddy any day. Sol always hated Diablo, and
he never had much use for Dad."

Dick looked up at her.

"It'll be--be pretty hard to leave Sol--when I go away."

Nell sat perfectly still.

"Go away?" she asked, presently, with just the faintest tremor in
her voice.

"Yes. Sometimes when I get blue--as I am to-day--I think I'll go.
But, in sober truth, Nell, it's not likely that I'll spend all my
life here."

There was no answer to this. Dick put his hand softly over hers;
and, despite her half-hearted struggle to free it, he held on.


Her color fled. He saw her lips part. Then a heavy step on the
gravel, a cheerful, complaining voice interrupted him, and made
him release Nell and draw back. Belding strode into view round
the adobe shed.

"Hey, Dick, that darned Yaqui Indian can't be driven or hired or
coaxed to leave Forlorn River. He's well enough to travel. I
offered him horse, gun, blanket, grub. But no go."

"That's funny," replied Gale, with a smile. "Let him stay--put
him to work"

"It doesn't strike me funny. But I'll tell you what I think. That
poor, homeles, heartbroken Indian has taken a liking to you, Dick.
These desert Yaquis are strange folk. I've heard strange stories
about them. I'd believe 'most anything. And that's how I figure
his case. You saved his life. That sort of thing counts big with
any Indian, even with an Apache. With a Yaqui maybe it's of deep
significance. I've heard a Yaqui say that with his tribe no debt to
friend or foe ever went unpaid. Perhaps that's what ails this fellow."

"Dick, don't laugh," said Nell. "I've noticed the Yaqui. It's
pathetic the way his great gloomy eyes follow you."

"You've made a friend," continued Belding. "A Yaqui could be a
real friend on this desert. If he gets his strength back he'll be
of service to you, don't mistake me. He's welcome here. But
you're responsible for him, and you'll have trouble keeping him
from massacring all the Greasers in Forlorn River."

The probability of a visit from the raiders, and a dash bolder
than usual on the outskirts of a ranch, led Belding to build a
new corral. It was not sightly to the eye, but it was high and
exceedingly strong. The gate was a massive affair, swinging on
huge hinges and fastening with heavy chains and padlocks. On the
outside it had been completely covered with barb wire, which would
make it a troublesome thing to work on in the dark.

At night Belding locked his white horses in this corral. The
Papago hersman slept in the adobe shed adjoining. Belding did
not imagine that any wooden fence, however substantially built,
could keep determined raiders from breaking it down. They
would have to take time, however, and make considerable noise;
and Belding relied on these facts. Belding did not believe a band
of night raiders would hold out against a hot rifle fire. So he
began to make up some of the sleep he had lost. It was noteworthy,
however, that Ladd did not share Belding's sanguine hopes.

Jim Lash rode in, reporting that all was well out along the line
toward the Sonoyta Oasis. Days passed, and Belding kept his rangers
home. Nothing was heard of raiders at hand. Many of the newcomers,
both American and Mexican, who came with wagons and pack trains
from Casita stated that property and life were cheap back in that
rebel-infested town.

One January morning Dick Gale was awakened by a shrill,
menacing cry. He leaped up bewildered and frightened.
He heard Belding's booming voice answering shouts, and rapid
steps on flagstones. But these had not awakened him. Heavy
breaths, almost sobs, seemed at his very door. In the cold and
gray dawn Dick saw something white. Gun in hand, he bounded
across the room. Just ouside his door stood Blanco Sol.

It was not unusual for Sol to come poking his head in at Dick's
door during daylight. But now in the early dawn, when he had
been locked in the corral, it meant raiders--no less. Dick called
softly to the snorting horse; and, hurriedly getting into clothes
and boots, he went out with a gun in each hand. Sol was quivering
in every muscle. Like a dog he followed Dick around the house.
Hearing shouts in the direction of the corrals, Gale bent swift
steps that way.

He caught up with Jim Lash, who was also leading a white horse.

"Hello, Jim! Guess it's all over but the fireworks," said Dick.

"I cain't say just what has come off," replied Lash. "I've got the
Bull. Found him runnin' in the yard."

They reached the corral to find Belding shaking, roaring like a
madman. The gate was open, the corral was empty. Ladd stooped
over the ground, evidently trying to find tracks.

"I reckon we might jest as well cool off an' wait for daylight,"
suggested Jim.

"Shore. They've flown the coop, you can gamble on that. Tom,
where's the Papago?" said Ladd.

"He's gone, Laddy--gone!"

"Double-crossed us, eh? I see here's a crowbar lyin' by the
gatepost. That Indian fetched it from the forge. It was used to
pry out the bolts an' steeples. Tom, I reckon there wasn't much
time lost forcin' that gate."

Belding, in shirt sleeves and barefooted, roared with rage.
He said he had heard the horses running as he leaped out of bed.

"What woke you?" asked Laddy.

"Sol. He came whistling for Dick. Didn't you hear him before I
called you?"

"Hear him! He came thunderin' right under my window. I jumped
up in bed, an' when he let out that blast Jim lit square in the
middle of the floor, an' I was scared stiff. Dick, seein' it was
your room he blew into, what did you think?"

"I couldn't think. I'm shaking yet, Laddy."

"Boys, I'll bet Sol spilled a few raiders if any got hands on him,"
said Jim. "Now, let's sit down an' wait for daylight. It's my
idea we'll find some of the hosses runnin' loose. Tom, you go
an' get some clothes on. It's freezin' cold. An' don't forget to
tell the women folks we're all right."

Daylight made clear some details of the raid. The cowboys found
tracks of eight raiders coming up from the river bed where their
horses had been left. Evidently the Papago had been false to his
trust. He few personal belongings were gone. Lash was correct
in his idea of finding more horses loose in the fields. The men
soon rounded up eleven of the whites, all more or less frightened,
and among the number were Queen and Blanca Mujer. The raiders
had been unable to handle more than one horse for each man. It
was bitter irony of fate that Belding should lose his favorite, the
one horse more dear to him than all the others. Somewhere out on
the trail a raider was fighting the iron-jawed savage Blanco Diablo.

"I reckon we're some lucky," observed Jim Lash.

"Lucky ain't enough word," replied Ladd. "You see, it was this way.
Some of the raiders piled over the fence while the others worked
on the gate. Mebbe the Papago went inside to pick out the best
hosses. But it didn't work except with Diablo, an' how they ever
got him I don't know. I'd have gambled it'd take all of eight
men to steal him. But Greasers have got us skinned on handlin'

Belding was unconsolable. He cursed and railed, and finally
declared he was going to trail the raiders.

"Tom, you just ain't agoin' to do nothin' of the kind," said Ladd

Belding groaned and bowed his head.

"Laddy, you're right," he replied, presently. "I've got to stand
it. I can't leave the women and my property. But it's sure tough.
I'm sore way down deep, and nothin' but blood would ever satisfy

"Leave that to me an' Jim," said Ladd.

"What do you mean to do?" demanded Belding, starting up.

"Shore I don't know yet....Give me a light for my pipe. An' Dick,
go fetch out your Yaqui."



THE Yaqui's strange dark glance roved over the corral, the swinging
gate with its broken fastenings, the tracks in the road, and then
rested upon Belding.

"Malo," he said, and his Spanish was clear.

"Shore Yaqui, about eight bad men, an' a traitor Indian," said Ladd.

"I think he means my herder," added Belding. "If he does, that
settles any doubt it might be decent to have--Yaqui--malo

The Yaqui spread wide his hands. Then he bent over the tracks in
the road. They led everywhither, but gradually he worked out of
the thick net to take the trail that the cowboys had followed down
to the river. Belding and the rangers kept close at his heels.
Occasionally Dick lent a helping hand to the still feeble Indian.
He found a trampled spot where the raiders had left their horses.
From this point a deeply defined narrow trail led across the dry
river bed.

Belding asked the Yaqui where the raiders would head for in the
Sonora Desert. For answer the Indian followed the trail across
the stream of sand, through willows and mesquite, up to the level
of rock and cactus. At this point he halted. A sand-filled,
almost obliterated trail led off to the left, and evidently went
round to the east of No Name Mountains. To the right stretched
the road toward Papago Well and the Sonoyta Oasis. The trail
of the raiders took a southeasterly course over untrodden desert.
The Yaqui spoke in his own tongue, then in Spanish.

"Think he means slow march," said Belding. "Laddy, from the looks
of that trail the Greasers are having trouble with the horses."

"Tom, shore a boy could see that," replied Laddy. "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. He made
crosses and marks and holes, and as he drew the rude map he talked
in Yaqui, in Spanish; with a word here and there in English.
Belding translated as best he could. The raiders were heading
southeast toward the railroad that ran from Nogales down into
Sonora. It was four days' travel, bad trail, good sure waterhole
one day out; then water not sure for two days. Raiders traveling
slow; bothered by too many horses, not looking for pursuit; were
never pursued, could be headed and ambushed that night at the first
waterhole, a natural trap in a valley.

The men returned to the ranch. The rangers ate and drank while
making hurried preparations for travel. Blanco Sol and the cowboys'
horses were fed, watered, and saddled. Ladd again refused to ride
one of Belding's whites. He was quick and cold.

"Get me a long-range rifle an' lots of shells. Rustle now," he

"Laddy, you don't want to be weighted down?" protested Belding.

"Shore I want a gun that'll outshoot the dinky little carbines an'
muskets used by the rebels. Trot one out an' be quick."

"I've got a .405, a long-barreled heavy rifle that'll shoot a mile.
I use it for mountain sheep. But Laddy, it'll break
that bronch's back."

"His back won't break so easy....Dick, take plenty of shells for
your Remington. An' don't forget your field glass."

In less than an hour after the time of the raid the three rangers,
heavily armed and superbly mounted on fresh horses, rode out
on the trail. As Gale turned to look back from the far bank of
Forlorn River, he saw Nell waving a white scarf. He stood high
in his stirrups and waved his sombrero. Then the mesquites hid
the girl's slight figure, and Gale wheeled grim-faced to follow
the rangers.

They rode in single file with Ladd in the lead. He did not keep
to the trail of the raiders all the time. He made short cuts.
The raiders were traveling leisurely, and they evinced a liking
for the most level and least cactus-covered stretches of ground.
But the cowboy took a bee-line course for the white escarpment
pointed out by the Yaqui; and nothing save deep washes and
impassable patches of cactus or rocks made him swerve from it.
He kept the broncho at a steady walk over the rougher places and
at a swinging Indian canter over the hard and level ground. The
sun grew hot and the wind began to blow. Dust clouds rolled
along the blue horizon. Whirling columns of sand, like water spouts
at sea, circled up out of white arid basins, and swept away and
spread aloft before the wind. The escarpment began to rise, to
change color, to show breaks upon its rocky face.

Whenever the rangers rode out on the brow of a knoll or ridge
or an eminence, before starting to descend, Ladd required of
Gale a long, careful, sweeping survey of the desert ahead through
the field glass. There were streams of white dust to be seen,
streaks of yellow dust, trailing low clouds of sand over the
glistening dunes, but no steadily rising, uniformly shaped puffs
that would tell a tale of moving horses on the desert.

At noon the rangers got out of the thick cactus. Moreover, the
gravel-bottomed washes, the low weathering, rotting ledges of
yellow rock gave place to hard sandy rolls and bare clay knolls.
The desert resembled a rounded hummocky sea of color. All light
shades of blue and pink and yellow and mauve were there dominated
by the glaring white sun. Mirages glistened, wavered, faded in the
shimmering waves of heat. Dust as fine as powder whiffed up from
under the tireless hoofs.

The rangers rode on and the escarpment began to loom. The desert
floor inclined perceptibly upward. When Gale got an unobstructed
view of the slope of the escarpment he located the raiders and
horses. In another hour's travel the rangers could see with naked
eyes a long, faint moving streak of black and white dots.

"They're headin' for that yellow pass," said Ladd, pointing to a
break in the eastern end of the escarpment. "When they get out of
sight we'll rustle. I'm thinkin' that waterhole the Yaqui spoke of
lays in the pass."

The rangers traveled swiftly over the remaining miles of level
desert leading to the ascent of the escarpment. When they achieved
the gateway of the pass the sun was low in the west. Dwarfed
mesquite and greasewood appeared among the rocks. Ladd gave the
word to tie up horses and go forward on foot.

The narrow neck of the pass opened and descended into a valley
half a mile wide, perhaps twice that in length. It had apparently
unscalable slopes of weathered rock leading up to beetling walls.
With floor bare and hard and white, except for a patch of green
mesquite near the far end it was a lurid and desolate spot, the
barren bottom of a desert bowl.

"Keep down, boys" said Ladd. "There's the waterhole an' hosses
have sharp eyes. Shore the Yaqui figgered this place. I never
seen its like for a trap."

Both white and black horses showed against the green,
and a thin curling column of blue smoke rose lazily from amid
the mesquites.

"I reckon we'd better wait till dark, or mebbe daylight," said
Jim Lash.

"Let me figger some. Dick, what do you make of the outlet to
this hole? Looks rough to me."

With his glass Gale studied the narrow construction of walls and
roughened rising floor.

"Laddy, it's harder to get out at that end than here," he replied.

"Shore that's hard enough. Let me have a look....Well, boys, it
don't take no figgerin' for this job. Jim, I'll want you at the
other end blockin' the pass when we're ready to start."

"When'll that be?" inquired Jim.

"Soon as it's light enough in the mornin'. That Greaser outfit
will hang till to-morrow. There's no sure water ahead for two
days, you remember."

"I reckon I can slip through to the other end after dark," said
Lash, thoughtfully. "It might get me in bad to go round."

The rangers stole back from the vantage point and returned to their
horses, which they untied and left farther round among broken
sections of cliff. For the horses it was a dry, hungry camp, but
the rangers built a fire and had their short though strengthening

The location was high, and through a break in the jumble of rocks
the great colored void of desert could be seen rolling away
endlessly to the west. The sun set, and after it had gone down
the golden tips of mountains dulled, their lower shadows creeping

Jim Lash rolled in his saddle blanket, his feet near the fire, and
went to sleep. Ladd told Gale to do likewise while he kept the
fire up and waited until it was late enough for Jim to undertake
circling round the raiders. When Gale awakened the night was
dark, cold, windy. The stars shone with white brilliance.
Jim was up saddling his horse, and Ladd was talking low.
When Gale rose to accompany them both rangers said he need not go.
But Gale wanted to go because that was the thing Ladd or Jim would have done.

With Ladd leading, they moved away into the gloom. Advance was
exceedingly slow, careful, silent. Under the walls the blackness
seemed impenetrable. The horse was as cautious as his master.
Ladd did not lose his way, nevertheless he wound between blocks
of stone and clumps of mesquite, and often tried a passage to
abandon it. Finally the trail showed pale in the gloom, and eastern
stars twinkled between the lofty ramparts of the pass.

The advance here was still as stealthily made as before, but not so
difficult or slow. When the dense gloom of the pass lightened,
and there was a wide space of sky and stars overhead, Ladd halted
and stood silent a moment.

"Luck again!" he whispered. "The wind's in your face, Jim. The
horses won't scent you. Go slow. Don't crack a stone. Keep close
under the wall. Try to get up as high as this at the other end.
Wait till daylight before riskin' a loose slope. I'll be ridin' the
job early. That's all."

Ladd's cool, easy speech was scarcely significant of the perilous
undertaking. Lash moved very slowly away, leading his horse.
The soft pads of hoofs ceased to sound about the time the gray
shape merged into the black shadows. Then Ladd touched Dick's
arm, and turned back up the trail.

But Dick tarried a moment. He wanted a fuller sense of that
ebony-bottomed abyss, with its pale encircling walls reaching
up to the dusky blue sky and the brilliant stars. There was
absolutely no sound.

He retraced his steps down, soon coming up with Ladd; and together
they picked a way back through the winding recesses of cliff. The
campfire was smoldering. Ladd replenished it and lay down to get
a few hours' sleep, while Gale kept watch. The after part of the
night wore on till the paling of stars, the thickening of gloom indicated
the dark hour before dawn. The spot was secluded from wind, but
the air grew cold as ice. Gale spent the time stripping wood from
a dead mesquite, in pacing to and fro, in listening. Blanco Sol
stamped occasionally, which sound was all that broke the stilliness.
Ladd awoke before the faintest gray appeared. The rangers ate
and drank. When the black did lighten to gray they saddled the
horses and led them out to the pass and down to the point where
they had parted with Lash. Here they awaited daylight.

To Gale it seemed long in coming. Such a delay always aggravated
the slow fire within him. He had nothing of Ladd's patience. He
wanted action. The gray shadow below thinned out, and the patch
of mesquite made a blot upon the pale valley. The day dawned.

Still Ladd waited. He grew more silent, grimmer as the time of
action approached. Gale wondered what the plan of attack would
be. Yet he did not ask. He waited ready for orders.

The valley grew clear of gray shadow except under leaning walls
on the eastern side. Then a straight column of smoke rose from
among the mesquites. Manifestly this was what Ladd had been
awaiting. He took the long .405 from its sheath and tried the
lever. Then he lifted a cartridge belt from the pommel of his
saddle. Every ring held a shell and these shells were four inches
long. He buckled the belt round him.

"Come on, Dick."

Ladd led the way down the slope until he reached a position that
commanded the rising of the trail from a level. It was the only
place a man or horse could leave the valley for the pass.

"Dick, here's your stand. If any raider rides in range take a crack
at him....Now I want the lend of your hoss."

"Blanco Sol!" exclaimed Gale, more in amazement that
Ladd should ask for the horse than in reluctance to lend him.

"Will you let me have him?" Ladd repeated, almost curtly.

"Certainly, Laddy."

A smile momentarily chased the dark cold gloom that had set upon
the ranger's lean face.

"Shore I appreciate it, Dick. I know how you care for that hoss.
I guess mebbe Charlie Ladd has loved a hoss! An' one not so
good as Sol. I was only tryin' your nerve, Dick, askin' you without
tellin' my plan. Sol won't get a scratch, you can gamble on that!
I'll ride him down into the valley an' pull the greasers out in the
open. They've got short-ranged carbines. They can't keep out of
range of the .405, an' I'll be takin' the dust of their lead. Sabe,

"Laddy! You'll run Sol away from the raiders when they chase you?
Run him after them when they try to get away?"

"Shore. I'll run all the time. They can't gain on Sol, an' he'll
run them down when I want. Can you beat it?"

"No. It's great!...But suppose a raider comes out on Blanco

"I reckon that's the one weak place in my plan. I'm figgerin'
they'll never think of that till it's too late. But if they do,
well, Sol can outrun Diablo. An' I can always kill the white

Ladd's strange hate of the horse showed in the passion of his
last words, in his hardening jaw and grim set lips.

Gale's hand went swiftly to the ranger's shoulder.

"Laddy. Don't kill Diablo unless it's to save your life."

"All right. But, by God, if I get a chance I'll make Blanco Sol
run him off his legs!"

He spoke no more and set about changing the length of Sol's
stirrups. When he had them adjusted to suit he mounted
and rode down the trail and out upon the level. He rode
leisurely as if merely going to water his horse. The long black
rifle lying across his saddle, however, was ominous.

Gale securely tied the other horse to a mesquite at hand, and took
a position behind a low rock over which he could easily see and
shoot when necessary. He imagined Jim Lash in a similar position at
the far end of the valley blocking the outlet. Gale had grown
accustomed to danger and the hard and fierce feelings peculiar to
it. But the coming drama was so peculiarly different in promise
from all he had experienced, that he waited the moment of action
with thrilling intensity. In him stirred long, brooding wrath at
these border raiders--affection for Belding, and keen desire to
avenge the outrages he had suffered--warm admiration for the
cold, implacable Ladd and his absolute fearlessness, and a curious
throbbing interest in the old, much-discussed and never-decided
argument as to whether Blanco Sol was fleeter, stronger horse
than Blanco Diablo. Gale felt that he was to see a race between
these great rivals--the kind of race that made men and horses

Ladd rode a quarter of a mile out upon the flat before anything
happened. Then a whistle rent the still, cold air. A horse had
seen or scented Blanco Sol. The whistle was prolonged, faint, but
clear. It made the blood thrum in Gale's ears. Sol halted. His
head shot up with the old, wild, spirited sweep. Gale leveled his
glass at the patch of mesquites. He saw the raiders running to an
open place, pointing, gesticulating. The glass brought them so
close that he saw the dark faces. Suddenly they broke and fled
back among the trees. Then he got only white and dark gleams
of moving bodies. Evidently that moment was one of boots, guns,
and saddles for the raiders.

Lowering the glass, Gale saw that Blanco Sol had started
forward again. His gait was now a canter, and he had covered
another quarter of a mile before horses and raiders appeared
upon the outskirts of the mesquites. Then Blanco Sol stopped.
His shrill, ringing whistle came distinctly to Gale's ears.
The raiders were mounted on dark horses, and they stood abreast
in a motionless line. Gale chuckled as he appreciated what
a puzzle the situation presented for them. A lone horseman in the
middle of the valley did not perhaps seem so menacing himself
as the possibilities his presence suggested.

Then Gale saw a raider gallop swiftly from the group toward the
farther outlet of the valley. This might have been owing to
characteristic cowardice; but it was more likely a move of the
raiders to make sure of retreat. Undoubtedly Ladd saw this
galloping horseman. A few waiting moments ensued. The galloping
horseman reached the slope, began to climb. With naked eyes Gale
saw a puff of white smoke spring out of the rocks. Then the raider
wheeled his plunging horse back to the level, and went racing wildly
down the valley.

The compact bunch of bays and blacks seemed to break apart and
spread rapidly from the edge of the mesquites. Puffs of white smoke
indicated firing, and showed the nature of the raiders' excitement.
They were far out of ordinary range, but they spurred toward Ladd,
shooting as they rode. Ladd held his ground; the big white horse
stood like a rock in his tracks. Gale saw little spouts of dust
rise in front of Blanco Sol and spread swift as sight to his rear.
The raiders' bullets, striking low, were skipping along the hard,
bare floor of the valley. Then Ladd raised the long rifle. There
was no smoke, but three high, spanging reports rang out. A gap
opened in the dark line of advancing horsemen; then a riderless
steed sheered off to the right. Blanco Sol seemed to turn as on
a pivot and charged back toward the lower end of the valley. He
circled over to Gale's right and stretched out into his run. There
were now five raiders in pursuit, and they came sweeping down,
yelling and shooting, evidently sure of their quarry. Ladd reserved
his fire. He kept turning from back to front in his saddle.

Gale saw how the space widened between pursuers and pursued, saw
distinctly when Ladd eased up Sol's running. Manifestly Ladd
intended to try to lead the raiders round in front of Gale's
position, and, presently, Gale saw he was going to succeed. The
raiders, riding like vaqueros, swept on in a curve, cutting off
what distance they could. One fellow, a small, wiry rider, high
on his mount's neck like a jockey, led his companions by many
yards. He seemed to be getting the range of Ladd, or else he
shot high, for his bullets did not strike up the dust behind Sol.
Gale was ready to shoot. Blanco Sol pounded by, his rapid, rhythmic
hoofbeats plainly to be heard. He was running easily.

Gale tried to still the jump of heart and pulse, and turned his
eye again on the nearest pursuer. This raider was crossing in,
his carbine held muzzle up in his right hand, and he was coming
swiftly. It was a long shot, upward of five hundred yards. Gale
had not time to adjust the sights of the Remington, but he knew
the gun and, holding coarsely upon the swiftly moving blot, he
began to shoot. The first bullet sent up a great splash of dust
beneath the horse's nose, making him leap as if to hurdle a fence.
The rifle was automatic; Gale needed only to pull the trigger. He
saw now that the raiders behind were in line. Swiftly he worked
the trigger. Suddenly the leading horse leaped convulsively, not
up nor aside, but straight ahead, and then he crashed to the ground
throwing his rider like a catapult, and then slid and rolled. He
half got up, fell back, and kicked; but his rider never moved.

The other rangers sawed the reins of plunging steeds and whirled to
escape the unseen battery. Gale slipped a fresh clip into the
magazine of his rifle. He restrained himself from useless firing and
gave eager eye to the duel below. Ladd began to shoot while Sol was
running. The .405 rang out sharply--then again. The heavy bullets
streaked the dust all the way across the valley. Ladd aimed
deliberately and pulled slowly, unmindful of the kicking dust-puffs
behind Sol, and to the side. The raiders spurred madly in pursuit,
loading and firing. They shot ten times while Ladd shot once, and
all in vain; and on Ladd's sixth shot a raider topped backward, threw
his carbine and fell with his foot catching in a stirrup. The
frightened horse plunged away, dragging him in a path of dust.

Gale had set himself to miss nothing of that fighting race, yet
the action passed too swiftly for clear sight of all. Ladd had
emptied a magazine, and now Blanco Sol quickened and lengthened
his running stride. He ran away from his pursuers. Then it was
that the ranger's ruse was divined by the raiders. They hauled
sharply up and seemed to be conferring. But that was a fatal
mistake. Blanco Sol was seen to break his gait and slow down
in several jumps, then square away and stand stockstill. Ladd fired
at the closely grouped raiders. An instant passed. Then Gale
heard the spat of a bullet out in front, saw a puff of dust, then
heard the lead strike the rocks and go whining away. And it
was after this that one of the raiders fell prone from his saddle.
The steel-jacketed .405 had gone through him on its uninterrupted
way to hum past Gale's positon.

The remaining two raiders frantically spurred their horses and fled
up the valley. Ladd sent Sol after them. It seemed to Gale, even
though he realized his excitement, that Blanco Sol made those horses
seem like snails. The raiders split, one making for the eastern
outlet, the other circling back of the mesquites. Ladd kept on
after the latter. Then puffs of white smoke and rifle shots faintly
crackling told Jim Lash's hand in the game. However, he succeeded
only in driving the raider back into the valley. But Ladd had
turned the other horseman, and now it appeared the two raiders
were between Lash above on the stony slope and Ladd below on the level.
There was desperate riding on part of the raiders to keep from being hemmed
in closer. Only one of them got away, and he came riding for life down
under the eastern wall. Blanco Sol settled into his graceful, beautiful
swing. He gained steadily, though he was far from extending
himself. By Gale's actual count the raider fired eight times in
that race down the valley, and all his bullets went low and wide.
He pitched the carbine away and lost all control in headlong flight.

Some few hundred rods to the left of Gale the raider put his horse
to the weathered slope. He began to climb. The horse was superb,
infinitely more courageous than his rider. Zigzag they went up
and up, and when Ladd reached the edge of the slope they were
high along the cracked and guttered rampart. Once--twice Ladd
raised the long rifle, but each time he lowered it. Gale divined
that the ranger's restraint was not on account of the Mexican,
but for that valiant and faithful horse. Up and up he went, and
the yellow dust clouds rose, and an avalanche rolled rattling and
cracking down the slope. It was beyond belief that a horse,
burdened or unburdened, could find footing and hold it upon that
wall of narrow ledges and inverted, slanting gullies. But he
climbed on, sure-footed as a mountain goat, and, surmounting
the last rough steps, he stood a moment silhouetted against
the white sky. Then he disappeared. Ladd sat astride Blanco Sol
gazing upward. How the cowboy must have honored that raider's
brave steed!

Gale, who had been too dumb to shout the admiration he felt,
suddenly leaped up, and his voice came with a shriek:


A big horse, like a white streak, was bearing down to the right
of the ranger. Blanco Diablo! A matchless rider swung with the
horse's motion. Gale was stunned. Then he remembered the first
raider, the one Lash had shot at and driven away from the outlet.
This fellow had made for the mesquite and had put a saddle on Belding's
favorite. In the heat of the excitement, while Ladd had been intent upon
the climbing horse, this last raider had come down with the speed of
the wind straight for the western outlet. Perhaps, very probably,
he did not know Gale was there to block it; and certainly he hoped
to pass Ladd and Blanco Sol.

A touch of the spur made Sol lunge forward to head off the raider.
Diablo was in his stride, but the distance and angle favored Sol.
The raider had no carbine. He held aloft a gun ready to level it
and fire. He sat the saddle as if it were a stationary seat. Gale
saw Ladd lean down and drop the .405 in the sand. He would take
no chances of wounding Belding's best-loved horse.

Then Gale sat transfixed with suspended breath watching the horses
thundering toward him. Blanco Diablo was speeding low, fleet as
an antelope, fierce and terrible in his devilish action, a horse for
war and blood and death. He seemed unbeatable. Yet to see the
magnificently running Blanco Sol was but to court a doubt. Gale
stood spellbound. He might have shot the raider; but he never
thought of such a thing. The distance swiftly lessened. Plain it
was the raider could not make the opening ahead of Ladd. He saw it
and swerved to the left, emptying his six-shooter as he turned.
His dark face gleamed as he flashed by Gale.

Blanco Sol thundered across. Then the race became straight away
up the valley. Diablo was cold and Sol was hot; therein lay the
only handicap and vantage. It was a fleet, beautiful, magnificent
race. Gale thrilled and exulted and yelled as his horse settled
into a steadily swifter run and began to gain. The dust rolled in
a funnel-shaped cloud from the flying hoofs. The raider wheeled
with gun puffing white, and Ladd ducked low over the neck of his

The gap between Diablo and Sol narrowed yard by yard. At first
it had been a wide one. The raider beat his mount and spurred,
beat and spurred, wheeled round to shoot, then bent forward again.
In his circle at the upper end of the valley he turned far short
of the jumble of rocks.

All the devil that was in Blanco Diablo had its running on the
downward stretch. The strange, cruel urge of bit and spur, the
crazed rider who stuck like a burr upon him, the shots and smoke
added terror to his natural violent temper. He ran himself off his
feet. But he could not elude that relentless horse behind him.
The running of Blanco Sol was that of a sure, remorseless driving
power--steadier--stronger--swifter with every long and wonderful

The raider tried to sheer Diablo off closer under the wall, to make
the slope where his companion had escaped. But Diablo was
uncontrollable. He was running wild, with breaking gait. Closer
and closer crept that white, smoothly gliding, beautiful machine
of speed.

Then, like one white flash following another, the two horses
gleamed down the bank of a wash and disappeared in clouds
of dust.

Gale watched with strained and smarting eyes. The thick throb
in his ears was pierced by faint sounds of gunshots. Then he
waited in almost unendurable suspense.

Suddenly something whiter than the background of dust appeared
above the low roll of valley floor. Gale leveled his glass. In the
clear circle shone Blanco Sol's noble head with its long black
bar from ears to nose. Sol's head was drooping now. Another
second showed Ladd still in the saddle.

The ranger was leading Blanco Diable--spent--broken--dragging



NO man ever had a more eloquent and beautiful pleader for his
cause than had Dick Gale in Mercedes Castaneda. He peeped
through the green, shining twigs of the palo verde that shaded his
door. The hour was high noon, and the patio was sultry. The only
sounds were the hum of bees in the flowers and the low murmur of
the Spanish girl's melodious voice. Nell lay in the hammock, her
hands behind her head, with rosy cheeks and arch eyes. Indeed,
she looked rebellious. Certain it was, Dick reflected, that the
young lady had fully recovered the wilful personality which had
lain dormant for a while. Equally certain it seemed that Mercedes's
earnestness was not apparently having the effect it should have had.

Dick was inclined to be rebellious himself. Belding had kept the
rangers in off the line, and therefore Dick had been idle most of
the time, and, though he tried hard, he had been unable to stay
far from Nell's vicinity. He believed she cared for him; but he
could not catch her alone long enough to verify his tormenting
hope. When alone she was as illusive as a shadow, as quick as a
flash, as mysterious as a Yaqui. When he tried to catch her in
the garden or fields, or corner her in the patio, she eluded him,
and left behind a memory of dark-blue, haunting eyes. It was
that look in her eyes which lent him hope. At other times, when
it might have been possible for Dick to speak, Nell clung closely
to Mercedes. He had long before enlisted the loyal Mercedes in his
cause; but in spite of this Nell had been more than a match for them both.

Gale pondered over an idea he had long revolved in mind, and
which now suddenly gave place to a decision that made his heart
swell and his cheek burn. He peeped again through the green
branches to see Nell laughing at the fiery Mercedes.

"Qui'en sabe," he called, mockingly, and was delighted with Nell's
quick, amazed start.

Then he went in search of Mrs. Belding, and found her busy in the
kitchen. The relation between Gale and Mrs. Belding had subtly and
incomprehensively changed. He understood her less than when at
first he divined an antagonism in her. If such a thing were
possible she had retained the antagonism while seeming to yield
to some influence that must have been fondness for him. Gale
was in no wise sure of her affection, and he had long imagined
she was afraid of him, or of something that he represented. He
had gone on, openly and fairly, though discreetly, with his rather
one-sided love affair; and as time passed he had grown less
conscious of what had seemed her unspoken opposition. Gale had
come to care greatly for Nell's mother. Not only was she the
comfort and strength of her home, but also of the inhabitants of
Forlorn River. Indian, Mexican, American were all the same to her
in trouble or illness; and then she was nurse, doctor, peacemaker,
helper. She was good and noble, and there was not a child or
grownup in Forlorn River who did not love and bless her. But Mrs.
Belding did not seem happy. She was brooding, intense, deep,
strong, eager for the happiness and welfare of others; and she
was dominated by a worship of her daughter that was as strange
as it was pathetic. Mrs. Belding seldom smiled, and never laughed.
There was always a soft, sad, hurt look in her eyes. Gale often
wondered if there had been other tragedy in her life than the
supposed loss of her father in the desert. Perhaps it
was the very unsolved nature of that loss which made it haunting.

Mrs. Belding heard Dick's step as he entered the kitchen, and,
looking up, greeted him.

"Mother," began Dick, earnestly. Belding called her that, and so
did Ladd and Lash, but it was the first time for Dick. "Mother
--I want to speak to you."

The only indication Mrs. Belding gave of being started was in her
eyes, which darkened, shadowed with multiplying thought.

"I love Nell," went on Dick, simply, "and I want you to let me ask
her to be my wife."

Mrs. Belding's face blanched to a deathly white. Gale, thinking
with surprise and concern that she was going to faint, moved
quickly toward her, took her arm.

"Forgive me. I was blunt....But I thought you knew."

"I've known for a long time," replied Mrs. Belding. Her voice was
steady, and there was no evidence of agitation except in her
pallor. "Then you--you haven't spoken to Nell?"

Dick laughed. "I've been trying to get a chance to tell her. I
haven't had it yet. But she knows. There are other ways besides
speech. And Mercedes has told her. I hope, I almost believe Nell
cares a little for me."

"I've known that, too, for a long time," said Mrs. Belding, low
almost as a whisper.

"You know!" cried Dick, with a glow and rush of feeling.

"Dick, you must be very blind not to see what has been plain
to all of us....I guess--it couldn't have been helped. You're a
splendid fellow. No wonder she loves you."

"Mother! You'll give her to me?"

She drew him to the light and looked with strange, piercing
intentness into his face. Gale had never dreamed a woman's eyes
could hold such a world of thought and feeling. It seemed all
the sweetness of life was there, and all the pain.

"Do you love her?" she asked.

"With all my heart."

"You want to marry her?"

"Ah, I want to! As much as I want to live and work for her."

"When would you marry her?"

"Why!...Just as soon as she will do it. To-morrow!" Dick gave a
wild, exultant little laugh.

"Dick Gale, you want my Nell? You love her just as she is--her
sweetness--her goodness? Just herself, body and soul?...There's
nothing could change you--nothing?"

"Dear Mrs. Belding, I love Nell for herself. If she loves me I'll
be the happiest of men. There's absolutely nothing that could
make any difference in me."

"But your people? Oh, Dick, you come of a proud family. I can
tell. I--I once knew a young man like you. A few months can't
change pride--blood. Years can't change them. You've become a
ranger. You love the adventure--the wild life. That won't last.
Perhaps you'll settle down to ranching. I know you love the West.
But, Dick, there's your family--"

"If you want to know anything about my family, I'll tell you,"
interrupted Dick, with strong feeling. "I've not secrets about
them or myself. My future and happiness are Nell's to make. No
one else shall count with me."

"Then, Dick--you may have her. God--bless--you--both."

Mrs. Belding's strained face underwent a swift and mobile
relaxation, and suddenly she was weeping in strangely mingled
happiness and bitterness.

"Why, mother!" Gale could say no more. He did not comprehend
a mood seemingly so utterly at variance with Mrs. Belding's habitual
temperament. But he put his arm around her. In another moment she
had gained command over herself, and, kissing him, she pushed him
out of the door.

"There! Go tell her, Dick...And have some spunk about it!"

Gale went thoughtfully back to his room. He vowed that he would
answer for Nell's happiness, if he had the wonderful good fortune
to win her. Then remembering the hope Mrs. Belding had given him,
Dick lost his gravity in a flash, and something began to dance and
ring within him. He simply could not keep his steps turned from
the patio. Every path led there. His blood was throbbing, his
hopes mounting, his spirit soaring. He knew he had never before
entered the patio with that inspirited presence.

"Now for some spunk!" he said, under his breath.

Plainly he meant his merry whistle and his buoyant step to
interrupt this first languorous stage of the siesta which the girls
always took during the hot hours. Nell had acquired the habit
long before Mercedes came to show how fixed a thing it was in the
life of the tropics. But neither girl heard him. Mercedes lay
under the palo verde, her beautiful head dark and still upon a
cushion. Nell was asleep in the hammock. There was an abandonment
in her deep repose, and a faint smile upon her face. Her sweet, red
lips, with the soft, perfect curve, had always fascinated Dick, and
now drew him irresistibly. He had always been consumed with a
desire to kiss her, and now he was overwhelmed with his opportunity.
It would be a terrible thing to do, but if she did not awaken at
once-- No, he would fight the temptation. That would be more than
spunk. It would-- Suddenly an ugly green fly sailed low over Nell,
appeared about to alight on her. Noiselessly Dick stepped close to
the hammock bent under the tree, and with a sweep of his hand
chased the intruding fly away. But he found himself powerless to
straighten up. He was close to her--bending over her face--near the
sweet lips. The insolent, dreaming smile just parted them. Then he
thought he was lost. But she stirred--he feared she would awaken.

He had stepped back erect when she opened her eyes. They were
sleepy, yet surprised until she saw him. Then she was wide awake
in a second, bewildered, uncertain.

"Why--you here?" she asked, slowly.

"Large as life!" replied Dick, with unusual gayety.

"How long have you been here?"

"Just got here this fraction of a second," he replied,
lying shamelessly.

It was evident that she did not know whether or not to believe
him, and as she studied him a slow blush dyed her cheek.

"You are absolutely truthful when you say you just stepped there?"

"Why, of course," answered Dick, right glad he did not have to lie
about that.

"I thought--I was--dreaming," she said, and evidently the sound
of her voice reassured her.

"Yes, you looked as if you were having pleasant dreams," replied
Dick. "So sorry to wake you. I can't see how I came to do it, I
was so quiet. Mercedes didn't wake. Well, I'll go and let you
have your siesta and dreams."

But he did not move to go. Nell regarded him with curious,
speculative eyes.

"Isn't it a lovely day?" queried Dick.

"I think it's hot."

"Only ninety in the shade. And you've told me the mercury goes
to one hundred and thirty in midsummer. This is just a glorious
golden day."

"Yesterday was finer, but you didn't notice it."

"Oh, yesterday was somewhere back in the past--the inconsequential

Nell's sleepy blue eyes opened a little wider. She did
not know what to make of this changed young man. Dick felt gleeful
and tried hard to keep the fact from becoming manifest.

"What's the inconsequential past? You seem remarkably happy

"I certainly am happy. Adios. Pleasant dreams."

Dick turned away then and left the patio by the opening into the
yard. Nell was really sleepy, and when she had fallen asleep again
he would return. He walked around for a while. Belding and the
rangers were shoeing a broncho. Yaqui was in the field with the
horses. Blanco Sol grazed contently, and now and then lifted his
head to watch. His long ears went up at sight of his master, and
he whistled. Presently Dick, as if magnet-drawn, retraced his steps
to the patio and entered noiselessly.

Nell was now deep in her siesta. She was inert, relaxed, untroubled
by dreams. Her hair was damp on her brow.

Again Nell stirred, and gradually awakened. Her eyes unclosed,
humid, shadowy, unconscious. They rested upon Dick for a moment
before they became clear and comprehensive. He stood back fully
ten feet from her, and to all outside appearances regarded her

"I've interrupted your siesta again," he said. "Please forgive me.
I'll take myself off."

He wandered away, and when it became impossible for him to stay
away any longer he returned to the patio.

The instant his glance rested upon Nell's face he divined she was
feigning sleep. The faint rose-blush had paled. The warm, rich,
golden tint of her skin had fled. Dick dropped upon his knees and
bent over her. Though his blood was churning in his veins, his
breast laboring, his mind whirling with the wonder of that moment
and its promise, he made himself deliberate. He wanted more than
anything he had ever wanted in his life to see if she would keep
up that pretense of sleep and let him kiss her. She must have felt
his breath, for her hair waved off her brow. Her cheeks were now white.
Her breast swelled and sank. He bent down closer--closer. But he must
have been maddeningly slow, for as he bent still closer Nell's eyes opened,
and he caught a swift purple gaze of eyes as she whirled her head.
Then, with a little cry, she rose and fled.



NO word from George Thorne had come to Forlorn River in weeks.
Gale grew concerned over the fact, and began to wonder if anything
serious could have happened to him. Mercedes showed a slow, wearing strain.

Thorne's commission expired the end of January, and if he could not
get his discharge immediately, he surely could obtain leave of
absence. Therefore, Gale waited, not without growing anxiety, and
did his best to cheer Mercedes. The first of February came bringing
news of rebel activities and bandit operations in and around Casita,
but not a word from the cavalryman.

Mercedes became silent, mournful. Her eyes were great black
windows of tragedy. Nell devoted herself entirely to the
unfortunate girl; Dick exerted himself to persuade her that all
would yet come well; in fact, the whole household could not have
been kinder to a sister or a daughter. But their united efforts
were unavailing. Mercedes seemed to accept with fatalistic
hopelessness a last and crowning misfortune.

A dozen times Gale declared he would ride in to Casita and find
out why they did not hear from Thorne; however, older and wiser
heads prevailed over his impetuosity. Belding was not sanguine
over the safety of the Casita trail. Refugees from there arrived
every day in Forlorn River, and if tales they told were true,
real war would have been preferable to what was going on along
the border. Belding and the rangers and the Yaqui held a
consultation. Not only had the Indian become a faithful servant
to Gale, but he was also of value to Belding. Yaqui had all the
craft of his class, and superior intelligence. His knowledge of
Mexicans was second only to his hate of them. And Yaqui, who had
been scouting on all the trails, gave information that made Belding
decide to wait some days before sending any one to Casita. He
required promises from his rangers, particularly Gale, not to leave
without his consent.

It was upon Gale's coming from this conference that he encountered
Nell. Since the interrupted siesta episode she had been more than
ordinarily elusive, and about all he had received from her was a
tantalizing smile from a distance. He got the impression now,
however, that she had awaited him. When he drew close to her he
was certain of it, and he experienced more than surprise.

"Dick," she began, hurriedly. "Dad's not going to send any one to
see about Thorne?"

"No, not yet. He thinks it best not to. We all think so. I'm
sorry. Poor Mercedes!"

"I knew it. I tried to coax him to send Laddy or even Yaqui.
He wouldn't listen to me. Dick, Mercedes is dying by inches.
Can't you see what ails her? It's more than love or fear. It's
uncertainty--suspense. Oh, can't we find out for her?"

"Nell, I feel as badly as you about her. I wanted to ride in to
Casita. Belding shut me up quick, the last time."

Nell came close to Gale, clasped his arm. There was no color
in her face. Her eyes held a dark, eager excitement.

"Dick, will you slip off without Dad's consent? Risk it! Go to
Casita and find out what's happened to Thorne--at least if he
ever started for Forlorn River?"

"No, Nell, I won't do that."

She drew away from him with passionate suddenness.

"Are you afraid?"

This certainly was not the Nell Burton that Gale knew.

"No, I'm not afraid," Gale replied, a little nettled.

"Will you go--for my sake?" Like lightning her mood changed
and she was close to him again, hands on his, her face white,
her whole presence sweetly alluring.

"Nell, I won't disobey Belding," protested Gale. "I won't break
my word."

"Dick, it'll not be so bad as that. But--what if it is?...Go,
Dick, if not for poor Mercedes's sake, then for mine--to please
me. I'll--I'll...you won't lose anything by going. I think I know
how Mercedes feels. Just a word from Thorne or about him
would save her. Take Blanco Sol and go, Dick. What rebel outfit
could ever ride you down on that horse? Why, Dick, if I was up
on Sol I wouldn't be afraid of the whole rebel army."

"My dear girl, it's not a question of being afraid. It's my
word--my duty to Belding."

"You said you loved me. If you love me you will go...You don't
love me!"

Gale could only stare at this transformed girl.

"Dick, listen!...If you go--if you fetch some word of Thorne to
comfort Mercedes, you--well, you will have your reward."


Her dangerous sweetness was as amazing as this newly revealed

"Dick, will you go?"

"No-no!" cried Gale, in violence, struggling with himself. "Nell
Burton, I'll tell you this. To have the reward I want would mean
pretty near heaven for me. But not even for that will I break my
word to your father."

She seemed the incarnation of girlish scorn and wilful passion.

"Gracias, senor," she replied, mockingly. "Adios." Then she
flashed out of his sight.

Gale went to his room at once, disturbed and thrilling, and did
not soon recover from that encounter.

The following morning at the breakfast table Nell was not present.
Mrs. Belding evidently considered the fact somewhat unusual, for
she called out into the patio and then into the yard. Then she went
to Mercedes's room. But Nell was not there, either.

"She's in one of her tantrums lately," said Belding. "Wouldn't
speak to me this morning. Let her alone, mother. She's spoiled
enough, without running after her. She's always hungry. She'll
be on hand presently, don't mistake me."

Notwithstanding Belding's conviction, which Gale shared, Nell did
not appear at all during the hour. When Belding and the rangers
went outside, Yaqui was eating his meal on the bench where he
always sat.

"Yaqui--Lluvia d' oro, si?" asked Belding, waving his hand toward
the corrals. The Indian's beautiful name for Nell meant "shower
of gold," and Belding used it in asking Yaqui if he had seen her.
He received a negative reply.

Perhaps half an hour afterward, as Gale was leaving his room, he
saw the Yaqui running up the path from the fields. It was markedly
out of the ordinary to see the Indian run. Gale wondered what was
the matter. Yaqui ran straight to Belding, who was at work at his
bench under the wagon shed. In less than a moment Belding was
bellowing for his rangers. Gale got to him first, but Ladd and Lash
were not far behind.

"Blanco Sol gone!" yelled Belding, in a rage.

"Gone? In broad daylight, with the Indian a-watch-in?" queried

"It happened while Yaqui was at breakfast. That's sure. He'd
just watered Sol."

"Raiders!" exclaimed Jim Lash.

"Lord only knows. Yaqui says it wasn't raiders."

"Mebbe Sol's just walked off somewheres."

"He was haltered in the corral."

"Send Yaqui to find the hoss's trail, an' let's figger," said
Ladd. "Shore this 's no raider job."

In the swift search that ensued Gale did not have anything to
say; but his mind was forming a conclusion. When he found his old
saddle and bridle missing from the peg in the barn his conclusion
became a positive conviction, and it made him, for the moment,
cold and sick and speechless.

"Hey, Dick, don't take it so much to heart," said Belding. "We'll
likely find Sol, and if we don't, there's other good horses."

"I'm not thinking of Sol," replied Gale.

Ladd cast a sharp glance at Gale, snapped his fingers, and said:

"Damn me if I ain't guessed it, too!"

"What's wrong with you locoed gents?" bluntly demanded Belding.

"Nell has slipped away on Sol," answered Dick.

There was a blank pause, which presently Belding broke.

"Well, that's all right, if Nell's on him. I was afraid we'd lost
the horse."

"Belding, you're trackin' bad," said Ladd, wagging his head.

"Nell has started for Casita," burst out Gale. "She has gone
to fetch Mercedes some word about Thorne. Oh, Belding, you
needn't shake your head. I know she's gone. She tried to persuade
me to go, and was furious when I wouldn't."

"I don't believe it," replied Belding, hoarsely. "Nell may have her
temper. She's a little devil at times, but she always had good

"Tom, you can gamble she's gone," said Ladd.

"Aw, hell, no! Jim, what do you think?" implored Belding.

"I reckon Sol's white head is pointed level an' straight
down the Casita trail. An' Nell can ride. We're losing' time."

That roused Belding to action.

"I say you're all wrong," he yelled, starting for the corrals.
"She's only taking a little ride, same as she's done often. But
rustle now. Find out. Dick, you ride cross the valley. Jim, you
hunt up and down the river. I'll head up San Felipe way. And you,
Laddy, take Diablo and hit the Casita trail. If she really has gone
after Thorne you can catch her in an hour or so."

"Shore I'll go," replied Ladd. "but, Beldin', if you're not plumb
crazy you're close to it. That big white devil can't catch Sol.
Not in an hour or a day or a week! What's more, at the end of any
runnin' time, with an even start, Sol will be farther in the lead.
An' now Sol's got an hour's start."

"Laddy, you mean to say Sol is a faster horse than Diablo?"
thundered Belding, his face purple.

"Shore. I mean to tell you just that there," replied the ranger.

"I'll--I'll bet a--"

"We're wastin' time," curtly interrupted Ladd. "You can gamble
on this if you want to. I'll ride your Blanco Devil as he never
was rid before, 'cept once when a damn sight better hossman
than I am couldn't make him outrun Sol."

Without more words the men saddled and were off, not waiting for
the Yaqui to come in with possible information as to what trail
Blanco Sol had taken. It certainly did not show in the clear sand
of the level valley where Gale rode to and fro. When Gale returned
to the house he found Belding and Lash awaiting him. They did not
mention their own search, but stated that Yaqui had found Blanco
Sol's tracks in the Casita trail. After some consultation Belding
decided to send Lash along after Ladd.

The interminable time that followed contained for
Gale about as much suspense as he could well bear.
What astonished him and helped him greatly to fight off
actual distress was the endurance of Nell's mother.

Early on the morning of the second day, Gale, who had acquired
an unbreakable habit of watching, saw three white horses and a
bay come wearily stepping down the road. He heard Blanco Sol's
familiar whistle, and he leaped up wild with joy. The horse was
riderless. Gale's sudden joy received a violent check, then
resurged when he saw a limp white form in Jim Lash's arms. Ladd
was supporting a horseman who wore a military uniform.

Gale shouted with joy and ran into the house to tell the good news.
It was the ever-thoughtful Mrs. Belding who prevented him from
rushing in to tell Mercedes. Then he hurried out into the yard,
closely followed by the Beldings.

Lash handed down a ragged, travel-stained, wan girl into Belding's

"Dad! Mama!"

It was indeed a repentant Nell, but there was spirit yet in the
tired blue eyes. Then she caught sight of Gale and gave him a
faint smile.


"Nell!" Gale reached for her hand, held it tightly, and found
speech difficult.

"You needn't worry--about your old horse," she said, as Belding
carried her toward the door. "Oh, Dick! Blanco Sol is--glorious!"

Gale turned to greet his friend. Indeed, it was but a haggard ghost
of the cavalryman. Thorne looked ill or wounded. Gale's greeting
was also a question full of fear.

Thorne's answer was a faint smile. He seemed ready to drop from
the saddle. Gale helped Ladd hold Thorne upon the horse until
they reached the house. Belding came out again. His welcome was
checked as he saw the condition of the cavalryman. Thorne reeled
into Dick's arms. But he was able to stand and walk.

"I'm not--hurt. Only weak--starved," he said. "Is Mercedes--
Take me to her."

"She'll be well the minute she sees him," averred Belding, as he and
Gale led the cavalryman to Mercedes's room. There they left him;
and Gale, at least, felt his ears ringing with the girl's broken cry
of joy.

When Belding and Gale hurried forth again the rangers were tending
the tired horses. Upon returning to the house Jim Lash calmly lit
his pipe, and Ladd declared that, hungry as he was, he had to tell
his story.

"Shore, Beldin'," began Ladd, "that was funny about Diablo catchin'
Blanco Sol. Funny ain't the word. I nearly laughed myself to
death. Well, I rode in Sol's tracks all the way to Casita. Never
seen a rebel or a raider till I got to town. Figgered Nell made
the trip in five hours. I went straight to the camp of the
cavalrymen, an' found them just coolin' off an' dressin' down their
hosses after what looked to me like a big ride. I got there too
late for the fireworks.

"Some soldier took me to an officer's tent. Nell was there, some
white an' all in. She just said, 'Laddy!' Thorne was there, too,
an' he was bein' worked over by the camp doctor. I didn't ask no
questions, because I seen quiet was needed round that tent. After
satisfying myself that Nell was all right, an' Thorne in no danger,
I went out.

"Shore there was so darn many fellers who wanted to an' tried to
tell me what'd come off, I thought I'd never find out. But I got
the story piece by piece. An' here's what happened.

"Nell rode Blanco Sol a-tearin' into camp, an' had a crowd round
her in a jiffy. She told who she was, where she'd come from, an'
what she wanted. Well, it seemed a day or so before Nell got there
the cavalrymen had heard word of Thorne. You see, Thorne had
left camp on leave of absence some time before. He was shore
mysterious, they said, an' told nobody where he was goin'.
A week or so after he left camp some Greaser give it away that
Rojas had a prisoner in a dobe shack near his camp. Nobody paid
much attention to what the Greaser said. He wanted money for
mescal. An' it was usual for Rojas to have prisoners. But in a
few more days it turned out pretty sure that for some reason
Rojas was holdin' Thorne.

"Now it happened when this news came Colonel Weede was in Nogales
with his staff, an' the officer left in charge didn't know how to
proceed. Rojas's camp was across the line in Mexico, an' ridin'
over there was serious business. It meant a whole lot more than
just scatterin' one Greaser camp. It was what had been botherin'
more'n one colonel along the line. Thorne's feller soldiers was
anxious to get him out of a bad fix, but they had to wait for

"When Nell found out Thorne was bein' starved an' beat in a dobe
shack no more'n two mile across the line, she shore stirred up
that cavalry camp. Shore! She told them soldiers Rojas was
holdin' Thorne--torturin' him to make him tell where Mercedes was.
She told about Mercedes--how sweet an' beautiful she was--how
her father had been murdered by Rojas--how she had been hounded
by the bandit--how ill an' miserable she was, waitin' for her lover.
An' she begged the cavalrymen to rescue Thorne.

"From the way it was told to me I reckon them cavalrymen went up
in the air. Fine, fiery lot of young bloods, I thought, achin' for
a scrap. But the officer in charge, bein' in a ticklish place,
still held out for higher orders.

"Then Nell broke loose. You-all know Nell's tongue is sometimes
like a choya thorn. I'd have give somethin' to see her work up
that soldier outfit. Nell's never so pretty as when she's mad.
An' this last stunt of hers was no girly tantrum, as Beldin' calls
it. She musta been ragin' with all the hell there's in a
woman....Can't you fellers see her on Blanco Sol with her eyes
turnin' black?"

Ladd mopped his sweaty face with his dusty scarf. He was beaming.
He was growing excited, hurried in his narrative.

"Right out then Nell swore she'd go after Thorne. If them
cavalrymen couldn't ride with a Western girl to save a brother
American--let them hang back! One feller, under orders, tried to
stop Blanco Sol. An' that feller invited himself to the hospital.
Then the cavalrymen went flyin' for their hosses. Mebbe Nell's
move was just foxy--woman's cunnin'. But I'm thinkin' as she
felt then she'd have sent Blanco Sol straight into Rojas's camp,
which, I'd forgot to say, was in plain sight.

"It didn't take long for every cavalryman in that camp to get wind
of what was comin' off. Shore they musta been wild. They strung
out after Nell in a thunderin' troop.

"Say, I wish you fellers could see the lane that bunch of hosses
left in the greasewood an' cactus. Looks like there'd been a
cattle stampede on the desert....Blanco Sol stayed out in front,
you can gamble on that. Right into Rojas's camp! Sabe, you
senors? Gawd Almighty! I never had grief that 'd hold a candle
to this one of bein' too late to see Nell an' Sol in their one best

"Rojas an' his men vamoosed without a shot. That ain't surprisin'.
There wasn't a shot fired by anybody. The cavalrymen soon found
Thorne an' hurried with him back on Uncle Sam's land. Thorne was
half naked, black an' blue all over, thin as a rail. He looked
mighty sick when I seen him first. That was a little after midday.
He was given food an' drink. Shore he seemed a starved man.
But he picked up wonderful, an' by the time Jim came along he was
wantin' to start for Forlorn River. So was Nell. By main strength
as much as persuasion we kept the two of them quiet till next
evenin' at dark.

"Well, we made as sneaky a start in the dark as Jim an' me could
manage, an' never hit the trail till we was miles from town.
Thorne's nerve held him up for a while. Then all at once he tumbled
out of his saddle. We got him back, an' Lash held him on.
Nell didn't give out till daybreak."

As Ladd paused in his story Belding began to stutter, and finally
he exploded. His mighty utterances were incoherent. But plainly
the wrath he had felt toward the wilful girl was forgotten. Gale
remained gripped by silence.

"I reckon you'll all be some surprised when you see Casita," went
on Ladd. "It's half burned an' half tore down. An' the rebels are
livin' fat. There was rumors of another federal force on the road
from Case Grandes. I seen a good many Americans from interior

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