The Bolivar County Democrat., 1923-02-03


whisper or dark face, told Gale to
reach for his canteen. He lifted the
Indian and gave him a drink, and If
ever in all his life he saw gratitude
in human eyes he saw it then. Then
he examined the injured Yaqui. The
hole in his shoulder, crushed arm,
and a badly lacerated leg.
The ranger thought rapidly. This
Yaqui would live unless left there to
die or be murdered by the Mexicans
when they found courage to sneak
back to the well. 1t never occurred to
Gale to abandon the poor fellow. All
the same, he knew he multiplied his
perils hundredfold by burdening
himself with a crippled Indian. Swift
ly he set to work, and with rifle ever
under his 'hand, and shifting glance
spared from his task, he bound up the
Yaqui's wounds. At the same time he
kept keen watch.
The Indians burros and the horses
Of the raiders were all out Of sight.
Time was too valuable for Gale to use
any In what might be vain search.
Therefore, he lifted the Yaqui upon
Soils broad shoulders and climbed
into the saddle. At a word Sol
dropped his head and started east
ward up the trail, walking swiftly,
without resentment for his double bur
den.
Gale, bearing in mind the ever-pres-
ent possibility Of encountering more
raiders and Of being pursued, saved
the strength Of the horse. Once out
of sight of Papago well, Gale dis
mounted and walked beside the horse,
steadying with one firm hand the help
less. dangling Yaqui.
Gale kept pace with his horse. He
bore the twinge of pain that darted
through his injured hip at every stride.
In the heat of midday he halted in the
shade of a rock, and, lifting the Yaqui
down, gave him drink. Then, after
a long, sweeping survey of the sur
rounding desert, he removed Sops sad
die and let him roll, and took for him
self a welcome rest and bite to eat
The Yaqui was tenacious of life
He was still holding his own. For the
first time Gale really looked at the
Indian to study him. He had large
head nobly cast and face that re-
sembled a shrunken mask. 1t seemed
chiseled In the dark-eyed, volcanic
lava of his Sonora wilderness. The
oil
mystic, but this Yaqui's encompassed
all the tragic desolation of the desert.
They were fixed on Gale, moved only
when he moved.
Gale resumed his homeward jour
ney. He held grimly by the side Of
the tireless, implacable horse, hold
ing the Yaqui on the saddle, taking
the brunt of the merciless thorns. In
the end it became heartrending toll.
His heavy chaps dragged him down;
but he dared not go on without them,
for thick and stiff as they were, the
terrible, steel-bayoneted spikes Of the
choyas pierced through to sting his
legs.
To the last mile Gale held to Blanco
Soils gait and kept ever-watchful gaze
ahead on the trail. Then, with the
low, flat houses of Forlorn River shin
ing red in the sunset, Gale tagged and
rapidly weakened. The Yaqui slipped
out of the saddle and dropped limp in
the sand Gale could not mount his
horse. He clutched Soils long tail and
twisted his hand in 1t and stag
gered on.
Blanco Sol whistled piercing blast.
He scented cool water and sweet al
falfa hay Twinkling lights ahead
meant rest. The melancholy desert
twilight rapidly succeeded the sunset
1t accentuated the forlorn loneliness
Of the gray, winding river Of sand and
its grayer shores. Night shadows
trooped down from the black and
looming mountains.