“Laddy, take a peek at the side of that lava ridge,” sharply called Jim.  “I guess mebbe somethin’ ain’t comin’ off.  See!  There’s Rojas an’ his outfit climbin’.  Don’t make out no hosses....Dick, use your glass an’ tell us what’s doin’.  I’ll watch Yaqui an’ tell you what his move means.”

Clearly and distinctly, almost as if he could have touched them, Gale had Rojas and his followers in sight.  They were toiling up the rough lava on foot.  They were heavily armed.  Spurs, chaps, jackets, scarfs were not in evidence.  Gale saw the lean, swarthy faces, the black, straggly hair, the ragged, soiled garments which had once been white.

“They’re almost up now,” Gale was saying.  “There!  They halt on top.  I see Rojas.  He looks wild.  By——! fellows, an Indian! ...It’s a Papago.  Belding’s old herder!...The Indian points—­ this way—­then down.  He’s showing Rojas the lay of the trail.”

“Boys, Yaqui’s in range of that bunch,” said Jim, swiftly.  “He’s raisin’ his rifle slow—­Lord, how slow he is!...He’s covered some one.  Which one I can’t say.  But I think he’ll pick Rojas.”

“The Yaqui can shoot.  He’ll pick Rojas,” added Gale, grimly.

“Rojas—­yes—­yes!” cried Thorne, in passion of suspense.

“Not on your life!” Ladd’s voice cut in with scorn.  “Gentlemen, you can gamble Yaqui ’ll kill the Papago.  That traitor Indian knows these sheep haunts.  He’s tellin’ Rojas—­”

A sharp rifle shot rang out.

“Laddy’s right,” called Gale.  “The Papago’s hit—­his arm falls—­There, he tumbles!”

More shots rang out.  Yaqui was seen standing erect firing rapidly at the darting Mexicans.  For all Gale could make out no second bullet took effect.  Rojas and his men vanished behind the bulge of lava.  Then Yaqui deliberately backed away from his postion.  He made no effort to run or hide.  Evidently he watched cautiously for signs of pursuers in the ruts and behind the choyas.  Presently he turned and came straight toward the position of the rangers, sheered off perhaps a hundred paces below it, and disappeared in a crevice.  Plainly his intention was to draw pursuers within rifle shot.

“Shore, Jim, you had your wish.  Somethin’ come off,” said Ladd.  “An’ I’m sayin’ thank God for the Yaqui!  That Papago ’d have ruined us.  Even so, mebbe he’s told Rojas more’n enough to make us sweat blood.”

“He had a chance to kill Rojas,” cried out the drawn-faced, passionate Thorne.  “He didn’t take it!...He didn’t take it!”

Only Ladd appeared to be able to answer the cavalryman’s poignant cry.

“Listen, son,” he said, and his voice rang.  “We-all know how you feel.  An’ if I’d had that one shot never in the world could I have picked the Papago guide.  I’d have had to kill Rojas.  That’s the white man of it.  But Yaqui was right.  Only an Indian could have done it.  You can gamble the Papago alive meant slim chance for us.  Because he’d led straight to where Mercedes is hidden, an’ then we’d have left cover to fight it out...When you come to think of the Yaqui’s hate for Greasers, when you just seen him pass up a shot at one—­well, I don’t know how to say what I mean, but damn me, my som-brer-ro is off to the Indian!”