Floyd, as he stood
beside his sister. "I wish I had my gun!"

"It's probably just as well you didn't have," she said with a
smile--rather a wan and weary one it must be admitted.

"Why?" demanded Floyd. "I'm as good a shot as you are."

"I know it. But in matters of this kind ruffians will stand for more
from a girl or woman than they would from a man. If you had drawn a
gun they probably would have shot you down without a moment's
hesitation. But when I pulled mine it took them off their feet, so to
speak."

"I wish it would take off a lot of their ugly heads, and their dirty
bodies, too!" grunted Floyd. "Say, Rose, what are we going to do?
This is a terrible pickle to be in."

"It's better to be in a pickle, for that's a sort of preservative,
Floyd," she joked, though how she had the heart to do this she herself
scarcely realized. "As long as they keep us in pickle there's some
hope," she went on, with a tired little laugh. "But when they take us
out--well, I'll be glad to have my gun," she added grimly.

She still held the weapon, but it was evident that she was not going to
be obliged to use it again at once, either for intimidation or actual
defence. Paz waved to her to put it away, and she did, slipping it
into a pocket of her skirt.

It was a pocket she had had made for just such a purpose as carrying a
gun where the ordinary observer would not see it. And if you have ever
hunted for a pocket in your mother's or sister's skirt, and given up in
disgust, you will understand that the subterfuge of Rosemary was not as
simple as at first appears. Of course she realized that if they had
been desperately bent on finding her weapon the Yaquis could have taken
it from her. But they evidently did not dream that she had one. And,
now, when she had given a demonstration of how quickly she could draw
and use it, they would be a bit careful of how they approached her.

Floyd's weapon, of course had been taken from him almost at once. He
had been taken unawares or this might not have been the case. But it
was probably better, under the circumstances, that he had no gun. Or,
as Rosemary had said, he might have rashly fired and the answering
shots from the Indians might have killed both of the captives.

"Go on!" Paz said to Rosemary, indicating that she and her brother
might remain together.

She had brought about what she intended.

The captives were led farther in among the rocks to a sort of natur