as learned that one of the cowboys of the town had ridden to
bring some United States troops from a nearby station, Paz, one of the
leaders, had set out with his followers to capture the rider. They had
come upon Rosemary and her brother with the result detailed.

"But why are they riding back into town with us?" Floyd wanted to know.

"Mexico is south of La Nogalique," answered Rosemary. "They have to
ride through it to get back to Mexico, and they--they're taking us with
them!"

There was a gasp in her voice.

"We've got to do something!" desperately cried Floyd. He strained at
his bonds, but uselessly.

Paz turned and shouted something in anger, but Floyd gave him back
fully as black a look as the one on the Yaqui leader's face. At least
Floyd was going to maintain a bold front.

Down the slope and into the small town rode the Indians with their
captives. Now the sound of shooting and shouting became louder. It
was evident that some of the Americans were making a stand against the
Indians. The Americans were firing from houses and other shelter, the
Indians riding here and there, aiming whenever they saw anyone at whom
to shoot. Several evidently dead bodies were in the streets, the
proportion being about equal between the Americans and the Indians.
Rosemary could not repress a shudder as she saw, in one doorway, a dead
woman and a little girl.

How the fight started, whether it could have been avoided, and what the
town officials had done or were doing, were only matters for surmise.

"There was a fight but I guess the Indians were too many for our
fellows," grimly said Floyd, as his horse was led along. He had
managed to keep close to Rosemary.

"It looks that way," the girl said. "Oh, Floyd! If we could only get
word to our folks or Uncle Henry!"

"I don't see how we can," said Floyd. "When night comes maybe we can
break away, but--"

He did not finish. It was a desperate hope as he and Rosemary well
knew.

Suddenly, when the centre of the town was reached by the band having
taken our friends captive, there was a burst of fire, mingled with
shouts of defiance. Out of one of the buildings burst a band of
American cowboys and others. They had gathered together to make a
stand, and this was their chance.

Several of the Indians fell from their saddles, and others, though
wounded, managed to retain their seats. Bullets flew about Rosemary
and Floyd, fortunately not hitting them, but co