"Mercedes, you're safe! Thorne's safe. It's all right now."
"Rojas!" she whispered.
"Gone! To the bottom of the crater! A Yaqui's vengeance,
Mercedes."
He heard the girl whisper the name of the Virgin. Then he gathered
her up in his arms.
"Come, Yaqui."
The Indian grunted. He had one hand pressed close over a bloody
place in his shoulder. Gale looked keenly at him. Yaqui was
inscrutable, as of old, yet Gale somehow knew that wound meant
little to him. The Indian followed him.
Without pausing, moving slowly in some places, very carefully
in others, and swiftly on the smooth part of the trail, Gale
carried Mercedes up to the rim and along to the the others.
Jim Lash worked awkardly over Ladd. Thorne was trying
to assist. Ladd, himself, was conscious, but he was a pallid,
apparently a death-stricken man. The greeting between Mercedes
and Thorne was calm--strangely so, it seemed to Gale. But he was
calm himself. Ladd smiled at him, and evidently would have spoken
had he the power. Yaqui then joined the group, and his piercing
eyes roved from one to the other, lingering longest over Ladd.
"Dick, I'm figger'n hard," said Jim, faintly. "In a minute it 'll
be up to you an' Mercedes. I've about shot my bolt....Reckon
you'll do-- best by bringin' up blankets--water--salt--firewood.
Laddy's got--one chance--in a hundred. Fix him up--first. Use
hot salt water. If my leg's broke--set it best you can. That hole
in Yaqui--only 'll bother him a day.
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