"Shore he's headin' for that high place," said Ladd. "He's goin'
slow now. There, he's stopped behind some choyas. He's gettin'
up--no, he's kneelin'....Now what the hell!"
"Laddy, take a peek at the side of that lava ridge," sharply called
Jim. "I guess mebbe somethin' ain't comin' off. See! There's
Rojas an' his outfit climbin'. Don't make out no hosses....Dick,
use your glass an' tell us what's doin'. I'll watch Yaqui an' tell
you what his move means."
Clearly and distinctly, almost as if he could have touched them,
Gale had Rojas and his followers in sight. They were toiling up
the rough lava on foot. They were heavily armed. Spurs, chaps,
jackets, scarfs were not in evidence. Gale saw the lean, swarthy
faces, the black, straggly hair, the ragged, soiled garments which
had once been white.
"They're almost up now," Gale was saying. "There! They halt on
top. I see Rojas. He looks wild. By----! fellows, an Indian!
...It's a Papago. Belding's old herder!...The Indian points--
this way--then down. He's showing Rojas the lay of the trail."
"Boys, Yaqui's in range of that bunch," said Jim, swiftly. "He's
raisin' his rifle slow--Lord, how slow he is!...He's covered some
one. Which one I can't say. But I think he'll pick Rojas."
"The Yaqui can shoot. He'll pick Rojas," added Gale, grimly.
"Rojas--yes--yes!" cried Thorne, in passion of suspense.
"Not on your life!" Ladd's voice cut in with scorn.
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