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
said.
"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.
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