Then in the
twilight, when the campfire burned, Ladd would try to get the
Yaqui to tell his side of the story. But this the Indian would
never do. There was only the expression of his fathomless eyes
and the set passion of his massive face.
Those waiting days grew into weeks. Ladd gained very slowly.
Nevertheless, at last he could walk about, and soon he averred
that, strapped to a horse, he could last out the trip to Forlorn
River.
There was rejoicing in camp, and plans were eagerly suggested.
The Yaqui happened to be absent. When he returned the rangers
told him they were now ready to undertake the journey back across
lava and cactus.
Yaqui shook his head. They declared again their intention.
"No!" replied the Indian, and his deep, sonorous voice rolled
out upon the quiet of the arroyo. He spoke briefly then. They
had waited too long. The smaller waterholes back in the trail
were dry. The hot summer was upon them. There could be only
death waiting down in the burning valley. Here was water and
grass and wood and shade from the sun's rays, and sheep to be
killed on the peaks. The water would hold unless the season was
that dreaded ano seco of the Mexicans.
"Wait for rain," concluded Yaqui, and now as never before he
spoke as one with authority. "If no rain--" Silently he lifted
his hand.
XVI
MOUNTAIN SHEEP
WHAT Gale might have thought an appalling situation, if considered
from a safe and comfortable home away from the desert, became, now
that he was shut in by the red-ribbed lava walls and great dry
wastes, a matter calmly accepted as inevitable.
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