Gale found the desire
irresistible. Thereafter he often rested Blanco Sol, and looked
back the while. He had his field-glass, but did not choose to use
it.
"Rojas will follow," said Mercedes.
Gale regarded her in amaze. The tone of her voice had been
indefinable. If there were fear then he failed to detect it. She
was gazing back down the colored slope, and something about
her, perhaps the steady, falcon gaze of her magnificent eyes,
reminded him of Yaqui.
Many times during the ensuing hour the Indian faced about, and
always his followers did likewise. It was high noon, with the sun
beating hot and the lava radiating heat, when Yaqui halted for a
rest. The place selected was a ridge of lava, almost a promontory,
considering its outlook. The horses bunched here and drooped their
heads. The rangers were about to slip the packs and remove
saddles when Yaqui restrained them.
He fixed a changeless, gleaming gaze on the slow descent; but did
not seem to look afar.
Suddenly he uttered his strange cry--the one Gale considered
involuntary, or else significant of some tribal trait or feeling.
It was incomprehensible, but no one could have doubted its
potency. Yaqui pointed down the lava slope, pointed with finger
and arm and neck and head--his whole body was instinct with
direction. His whole being seemed to have been animated and
then frozen. His posture could not have been misunderstood,
yet his expression had not altered.
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