If it seemed so to the stricken Gale what must it have been to
Rojas? He appeared to sink against the wall. The Yaqui stole
closer and closer. He was the savage now, and for him the moment
must have been glorified. Gale saw him gaze up at the great
circling walls of the crater, then down into the depths.
Perhaps the red haze hanging above him, or the purple
haze below, or the deep caverns in the lava, held for Yaqui
spirits of the desert, his gods to whom he called. Perhaps he
invoked shadows of his loved ones and his race, calling them in this
moment of vengeance.
Gale heard--or imagined he heard--that wild, strange Yaqui cry.
Then the Indian stepped close to Rojas, and bent low, keeping out
of reach. How slow were his motions! Would Yaqui never--never
end it?...A wail drifted across the crater to Gale's ears.
Rojas fell backward and plunged sheer. The bank of white choyas
caught him, held him upon their steel spikes. How long did the
dazed Gale sit there watching Rojas wrestling and writhing in
convulsive frenzy? The bandit now seemed mad to win the delayed
death.
When he broke free he was a white patched object no longer human,
a ball of choya burrs, and he slipped off the bank to shoot down
and down into the purple depths of the crater.
XIII
CHANGES AT FORLORN RIVER
THE first of March saw the federal occupation of the garrison at
Casita. After a short, decisive engagement the rebels were
dispersed into small bands and driven eastward along the boundary
line toward Nogales.
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