turned Diablo's head to the south and started down the
slope. His manner had been decisive, even stern. Lash did not
question it, nor did Ladd. Both rangers hesitated, however, and showed
a strange, almost sullen reluctance which Gale had never seen in them
before. Raiders were one thing, Rojas was another; Camino del Diablo
still another; but that vast and desolate and unwatered waste of cactus
and lava, the Sonora Desert, might appall the stoutest heart. Gale
felt his own sink--felt himself flinch.

"Oh, where is he going?" cried Mercedes. Her poignant voice seemed to
break a spell.

"Shore, lady, Yaqui's goin' home," replied Ladd, gently. "An'
considerin' our troubles I reckon we ought to thank God he knows the
way."

They mounted and rode down the slope toward the darkening south.

Not until night travel was obstructed by a wall of cactus did the
Indian halt to make a dry camp. Water and grass for the horses and
fire to cook by were not to be had. Mercedes bore up surprisingly; but
she fell asleep almost the instant her thirst had been allayed. Thorne
laid her upon a blanket and covered her. The men ate and drank. Diablo
was the only horse that showed impatience; but he was angry, and not in
distress. Blanco Sol licked Gale's hand and stood patiently. Many a
time had he taken his rest at night without a drink. Yaqui again bade
the men sleep. Ladd said he would take the early watch; but from the
way the Indian shook his head and settled himself against a stone, it
appeared if Ladd remained awake he would have company. Gale lay down
weary of limb and eye. He heard the soft thump of hoofs, the sough of
wind in the cactus--then no more.

When he awoke there was bustle and stir about him. Day had not yet
dawned, and the air was freezing cold. Yaqui had found a scant bundle
of greasewood which served to warm them and to cook breakfast.
Mercedes was not aroused till the last moment.

Day dawned with the fugitives in the saddle. A picketed wall of cactus
hedged them in, yet the Yaqui made a tortuous path, that, zigzag as it
might, in the main always headed south. It was wonderful how he
slipped Diablo through the narrow aisles of thorns, saving the horse
and saving himself. The others were torn and clutched and held and
stung. The way was a flat, sandy pass between low mountain ranges.
There were open spots and aisles and squares of sand; and hedging rows
of prickly pear and the huge spider-leg