“Mercedes, you’re safe!  Thorne’s safe.  It’s all right now.”

“Rojas!” she whispered.

“Gone!  To the bottom of the crater!  A Yaqui’s vengeance, Mercedes.”

He heard the girl whisper the name of the Virgin.  Then he gathered her up in his arms.

“Come, Yaqui.”

The Indian grunted.  He had one hand pressed close over a bloody place in his shoulder.  Gale looked keenly at him.  Yaqui was inscrutable, as of old, yet Gale somehow knew that wound meant little to him.  The Indian followed him.

Without pausing, moving slowly in some places, very carefully in others, and swiftly on the smooth part of the trail, Gale carried Mercedes up to the rim and along to the the others.  Jim Lash worked awkardly over Ladd.  Thorne was trying to assist.  Ladd, himself, was conscious, but he was a pallid, apparently a death-stricken man.  The greeting between Mercedes and Thorne was calm—­strangely so, it seemed to Gale.  But he was calm himself.  Ladd smiled at him, and evidently would have spoken had he the power.  Yaqui then joined the group, and his piercing eyes roved from one to the other, lingering longest over Ladd.

“Dick, I’m figger’n hard,” said Jim, faintly.  “In a minute it ’ll be up to you an’ Mercedes.  I’ve about shot my bolt....Reckon you’ll do—­ best by bringin’ up blankets—­water—­salt—­firewood.  Laddy’s got—­one chance—­in a hundred.  Fix him up—­first.  Use hot salt water.  If my leg’s broke—­set it best you can.  That hole in Yaqui—­only ’ll bother him a day.  Thorne’s bad hurt...Now rustle—­Dick, old—­boy.”

Lash’s voice died away in a husky whisper, and he quietly lay back, stretching out all but the crippled leg.  Gale examined it, assured himself the bones had not been broken, and then rose ready to go down the trail.

“Mercedes, hold Thorne’s head up, in your lap—­so.  Now I’ll go.”

On the moment Yaqui appeared to have completed the binding of his wounded shoulder, and he started to follow Gale.  He paid no attention to Gale’s order for him to stay back.  But he was slow, and gradually Gale forged ahead.  The lingering brightness of the sunset lightened the trail, and the descent to the arroyo was swift and easy.  Some of the white horses had come in for water.  Blanco Sol spied Gale and whistled and came pounding toward him.  It was twilight down in the arroyo.  Yaqui appeared and began collecting a bundle of mesquite sticks.  Gale hastily put together the things he needed; and, packing them all in a tarpaulin, he turned to retrace his steps up the trail.

Darkness was setting in.  The trail was narrow, exceedingly steep, and in some places fronted on precipices.  Gale’s burden was not very heavy, but its bulk made it unwieldy, and it was always overbalancing him or knocking against the wall side of the trail.  Gale found it necessary to wait for Yaqui to take the lead.  The Indian’s eyes must have seen as well at night as by day.  Gale toiled upward, shouldering, swinging, dragging the big pack; and, though the ascent of the slope was not really long, it seemed endless.  At last they reached a level, and were soon on the spot with Mercedes and the injured men.