He took the shortest cut down the arroyo,
with no concern as to whether or not he would encounter the raiders.
Probably such a meeting would be all the worse for them, and they
knew it. Blanco Sol heard him coming and whistled a welcome, and
when Gale ran up the horse was snorting war. Mounting, Gale rode
rapidly back to the scene of the action, and his first thought, when
he arrived at the well, was to give Sol a drink and to fill his canteens.
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.
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