"But say, I don't just like this! Look,
those men are shooting at each other!"

He stopped the car and pointed to two groups of horsemen who,
undoubtedly, were firing at each other with evil intent. For as
Rosemary and Floyd looked, several men toppled from their saddles, and
their steeds rushed wildly to and fro.

Then, as the travelers sat in the machine, looking down the last slope
that led to the town, a solitary horseman came clattering up the rocky
trail.

"Turn back! Turn back!" he shouted. "Don't go down there!"

He was attired as a cowboy and spoke good United States.

"What's the matter?" demanded Floyd, as he let the car roll to one side
to give the horseman room to pass.

"Yaquis!" was the answer. "Them onery Mexican Indians have broke loose
and are raiding the country. They've started in here at La Nogalique!
I'm riding for the troops. Better turn back!"

"Oh, Floyd!" cried Rosemary, involuntarily.

"Don't go down there!" warned the horseman, as he spurred on, for he
saw the car slipping down the slope.

"I don't intend to, if I can turn around and beat it up the hill,"
Floyd said. "The question is--can I?"

It was a question. The road was narrow, and the hill steep. If you
have ever tried to turn a car around on a narrow, hilly road and crawl
back up it, you will appreciate the position of Rosemary and her
brother.

"If you can't make it in your car get out and hide!" advised the
horseman, flinging this back over his shoulder as he rode on. "Those
Yaquis are human devils!"

He was out of sight a moment later around a turn in the trail. Floyd
speeded up the engine and began to guide the machine toward a place
that looked wide enough to turn in. But that was the smallest part of
the problem.

Just as he was making the turn there was a lurch to one side, and the
right forward wheel sank into a ditch at the side of the road. The car
settled so far over that Rosemary had to cling to Floyd to avoid
sliding out, and she could not repress a scream.

"No going back now!" exclaimed Floyd grimly. "We're lucky if we can go
ahead."

"Do something!" desperately cried Rosemary.

And then, with a suddenness that was nerve-racking, there swept around
the bend in the road toward them a band of yelling Mexican Indians--the
Yaquis!

CHAPTER VI

PRISONERS

Rosemary and Floyd knew something of the west. They had lived in
California a number of years, and had traveled across the