White Horses "A crippled Yaqui! Why the hell did you saddle yourself with him?" roared Belding, as he laid Gale upon the bed.
Belding had grown hard these late, violent weeks.
"Because I chose," whispered Gale, in reply. "Go after him--he dropped in the trail--across the river--near the first big saguaro."
Belding began to swear as he fumbled with matches and the lamp; but as the light flared up he stopped short in the middle of a word.
"You said you weren't hurt?" he demanded, in sharp anxiety, as he bent over Gale.
"I'm only--all in....Will you go--or send some one--for the Yaqui?"
"Sure, ****, sure," Belding replied, in softer tones. Then he stalked out; his heels rang on the flagstones; he opened a door and called: "Mother--girls, here's **** back. He's done up....Now --no, no, he's not hurt or in bad shape. You women!...Do what you can to make him comfortable. I've got a little job on hand."
There were quick replies that Gale's dulling ears did not distinguish. Then it seemed Mrs. Belding was beside his bed, her presence so cool and soothing and helpful, and Mercedes and Nell, wide-eyed and white-faced, were fluttering around him. He drank thirstily, but refused food. He wanted rest. And with their faces drifting away in a kind of haze, with the feeling of gentle hands about him, he lost consciousness.
He slept twenty hours. then he arose, thirsty, hungry, lame, overworn, and presently went in search of Belding and the business of the day.
"Your Yaqui was near dead, but guess we'll pull him through," said Belding. "****, the other day that Indian came here by rail and foot and Lord only knows how else, all the way from New Orleans!
He spoke English better than most Indians, and I know a little Yaqui. I got some of his story and guessed the rest. The Mexican government is trying to root out the Yaquis. A year ago his tribe was taken in chains to a Mexican port on the Gulf. The fathers, mothers, children, were separated and put in ships bound for Yucatan. There they were made slaves on the great henequen plantations. They were driven, beaten, starved. Each slave had for a day's rations a hunk of sour dough, no more. Yucatan is low, marshy, damp, hot. The Yaquis were bred on the high, dry Sonoran plateau, where the air is like a knife. They dropped dead in the henequen fields, and their places were taken by more. You see, the Mexicans won't kill outright in their war of extermination of the Yaquis. They get use out of them. It's a horrible thing....Well, this Yaqui you brought in escaped from his captors, got aboard ship, and eventually reached New Orleans. Somehow he traveled way out here. I gave him a bag of food, and he went off with a Papago Indian. He was a sick man then. And he must have fallen foul of some Greasers."
Gale told of his experience at Papago Well.
"That raider who tried to grind the Yaqui under a horse's hoofs--he was a hyena!" concluded Gale, shuddering. "I've seen some blood spilled and some hard sights, but that inhuman devil took my nerve.
Why, as I told you, Belding, I missed a shot at him--not twenty paces!"
"****, in cases like that the sooner you clean up the bunch the better," said Belding, grimly. "As for hard sights--wait till you've seen a Yaqui do up a Mexican.
Bar none, that is the limit! It's blood lust, a racial hate, deep as life, and terrible. The Spaniards crushed the Aztecs four or five hundred years ago. That hate has had time to grow as deep as a cactus root. The Yaquis are mountain Aztecs. Personally, I think they are noble and intelligent, and if let alone would be peaceable and industrious. I like the few I've known. But they are a doomed race. Have you any idea what ailed this Yaqui before the raider got in his work?"
"No, I haven't. I noticed the Indian seemed in bad shape; but I couldn't tell what was the matter with him."
"Well, my idea is another personal one. Maybe it's off color. I think that Yaqui was, or is, for that matter, dying of a broken heart. All he wanted was to get back to his mountains and die.
There are no Yaquis left in that part of Sonora he was bound for."
"He had a strange look in his eyes," said Gale, thoughtfully.
"Yes, I noticed that. But all Yaquis have a wild look. ****, if I'm not mistaken, this fellow was a chief. It was a waste of strength, a needless risk for you to save him, pack him back here. but, damn the whole Greaser outfit generally, I'm glad you did!"
Gale remembered then to speak of his concern for Ladd.
"Laddy didn't go out to meet you," replied Belding. "I knew you were due in any day, and, as there's been trouble between here and Casita, I sent him that way. Since you've been out our friend Carter lost a bunch of horses and a few steers. Did you get a good look at the horses those raiders had at Papago Well?"
**** had learned, since he had become a ranger, to see everything with keen, sure, photographic eye; and, being put to the test so often required of him, he described the horses as a dark-colored drove, mostly bays and blacks, with one spotted sorrel.
"Some of Carter's--sure as you're born!" exclaimed Belding. "His bunch has been split up, divided among several bands of raiders.
He has a grass ranch up here in Three Mile Arroyo. It's a good long ride in U. S. territory from the border."
"Those horses I saw will go home, don't you think?" asked ****.
"Sure. They can't be caught or stopped."
"Well, what shall I do now?"
"Stay here and rest," bluntly replied Belding. "You need it. Let the women fuss over you--doctor you a little. When Jim gets back from Sonoyta I'll know more about what we ought to do. By Lord! it seems our job now isn't keeping Japs and Chinks out of the U. S.
It's keeping our property from going into Mexico."
"Are there any letters for me?" asked Gale.
"Letters! Say, my boy, it'd take something pretty important to get me or any man here back Casita way. If the town is safe these days the road isn't. It's a month now since any one went to Casita."