osemary
and Floyd. Kept as much as possible to the confines of what might be
termed, unofficially, a reservation, the Yaquis occasionally broke
through the line of Mexican soldier guards and went on a rampage, often
crossing the border into Arizona, as happened in the spring of 1921,
when several Americans were killed in a border town.

It was an uprising of this same nature which had spelled trouble for
Rosemary and her brother. They had happened along at the wrong time,
as it were.

Tired and weary, in body and spirit, the captives were urged forward.
"Mike" as our friends had dubbed him, seemed good natured enough, for
he kept a perpetual grin on his face. His mission seemed to be to ride
between Rosemary and Floyd, and prevent any collusion to escape.

However there was no time or chance to think of that now. The
cavalcade filed along a narrow, rocky gorge, from which there was no
side trail. Paz and some of his more intimate followers rode in the
van, and the rear guard was made up of ragged Indians--with apologies
for using the name.

Rosemary and Floyd would not have had a chance had they been able to
turn their horses and make a bolt for it. So they must ride on. They
were too weary to talk now, they could only hope for the best. When
would the rescuers come?

A halt was made at noon, and some coarse food was passed to the
captives. Rosemary shuddered at it and turned away.

"You must eat," Floyd told her. "Got to keep up your strength you
know."

And she managed to choke down a few mouthfuls.

The afternoon passed wearily. They were going deeper into the
mountains it seemed. There appeared to be some dispute between Paz on
one side and a few of his followers on the other. And it seemed to
have to do with a place to camp for the night. The men wanted to stop
while the sun was yet in sight, but Paz insisted on going on until it
was below the jagged peaks. Then he indicated a place where camp was
to be made.

Mike slid off his horse, and, loosening the ropes, indicated that
Rosemary and Floyd were to do the same. So cramped and stiff was
Rosemary that she fell in a heap as she slid from the saddle. With a
cry Floyd sprang to her aid, only to be thrust back by Mike.

"What do you mean?" yelled the boy. "I want to help my
sister--you--you--"

He was spluttering with rage as he raised his hand, and looked about
for a rock with which to attack the Indian.

"Don't--Floyd!" called Rose