“Shore he sees somethin’,” said Ladd.  “But my eyes are not good.”

“I reckon I ain’t sure of mine,” replied Jim.  “I’m bothered by a dim movin’ streak down there.”

Thorne gazed eagerly down as he stood beside Mercedes, who sat motionless facing the slope.  Gale looked and looked till he hurt his eyes.  Then he took his glass out of its case on Sol’s saddle.

There appeared to be nothing upon the lava but the innumerable dots of choya shining in the sun.  Gale swept his glass slowly forward and back.  Then into a nearer field of vision crept a long white-and-black line of horses and men.  Without a word he handed the glass to Ladd.  The ranger used it, muttering to himself.

“They’re on the lava fifteen miles down in an air line,” he said, presently.  “Jim, shore they’re twice that an’ more accordin’ to the trail.”

Jim had his look and replied:  “I reckon we’re a day an’ a night in the lead.”

“Is it Rojas?” burst out Thorne, with set jaw.

“Yes, Thorne.  It’s Rojas and a dozen men or more,” replied Gale, and he looked up at Mercedes.

She was transformed.  She might have been a medieval princess embodying all the Spanish power and passion of that time, breathing revenge, hate, unquenchable spirit of fire.  If her beauty had been wonderful in her helpless and appealing moments, now, when she looked back white-faced and flame-eyed, it was transcendant.

Gale drew a long, deep breath.  The mood which had presaged pursuit, strife, blood on this somber desert, returned to him tenfold.  He saw Thorne’s face corded by black veins, and his teeth exposed like those of a snarling wolf.  These rangers, who had coolly risked death many times, and had dealt it often, were white as no fear or pain could have made them.  Then, on the moment, Yaqui raised his hand, not clenched or doubled tight, but curled rigid like an eagle’s claw; and he shook it in a strange, slow gesture which was menacing and terrible.

It was the woman that called to the depths of these men.  And their passion to kill and to save was surpassed only by the wild hate which was yet love, the unfathomable emotion of a peon slave.  Gale marveled at it, while he felt his whole being cold and tense, as he turned once more to follow in the tracks of his leaders.  The fight predicted by Belding was at hand.  What a fight that must be!  Rojas was traveling light and fast.  He was gaining.  He had bought his men with gold, with extravagant promises, perhaps with offers of the body and blood of an aristocrat hateful to their kind.  Lastly, there was the wild, desolate environment, a tortured wilderness of jagged lava and poisoned choya, a lonely, fierce, and repellant world, a red stage most somberly and fittingly colored for a supreme struggle between men.

Yaqui looked back no more.  Mercedes looked back no more.  But the others looked, and the time came when Gale saw the creeping line of pursuers with naked eyes.