continent
more than once--by auto on one occasion. So they were not at all
disappointed when they saw the Yaquis did not measure up to the
picturesque standard of Buffalo Bill's Indians.

In fact the first glimpse of the onrushing band of Yaquis would give
one the impression that they were a lot of colored cowboys, in most
ragged garments. But each one carried a gun or a revolver and the
weapons were for use, and had been used, some with fatal effect.

Shouting and yelling, some firing their guns off in the air, beating
coiled lassos against the heaving sides of their steeds, spurring the
frantic animals, shouting in Spanish, all of them dusty, sweaty and
dirty--the band was at once ridiculous and fearsome.

Up the trail they rushed, adding to their fierce yells as they caught
sight of the auto in which sat Rosemary and Floyd. Probably the band
of Yaquis had started off after the cowboy messenger who was riding to
summon the United States troopers, and the finding of Rosemary and
Floyd was but an accident.

But it was an accident likely to bode ill for our friends. The Indians
(I call them that though they were really Mexicans) having sighted what
was to them fair game, were turned from their original purpose of
capturing the messenger.

Rosemary and Floyd caught a jumbled jargon of Spanish shouts, mingled
with Mexican and American words, and then out of the ruck of riders a
solitary horseman spurred toward them.

"He's the leader, I guess!" exclaimed Floyd, and Rosemary caught the
gleam of his revolver in her brother's hand.

"Floyd! Don't!" she cried.

"Don't what?"

"Don't shoot? Oh, we haven't a chance! If we do kill--or wound a
few--it will only make it worse for us. Don't shoot!"

Rosemary spoke only just in time, for Floyd was already raising the
weapon to aim at the leader who had spurred out of the ruck of other
yelling Yaquis.

And, as if this leader sensed what was about to happen, and had decided
to administer a lesson, there was a sharp crack from his side. He had
not raised his hand higher than his saddle pommel, but Floyd's hat spun
from his head and went sailing to the ground. At the same time he
heard a vicious "zing" which told of a bullet in flight.

"Floyd!" screamed Rosemary.

"I'm all right! He's bluffing!" her brother answered. But he did not
shoot back.

This Yaqui, better dressed and mounted, but more evil in face than any
of his band, smiled grimly as he jammed hi