found the dead ashes of a fire, and not far away the Indian picked up a small leather gauntlet.
'That's one o' Tonia's gloves,' Andy pronounced at once. 'We're on the right track, anyways; mebbe we'll overhaul 'em yet.'
'No catch--find urn,' the Indian said.
'He reckons they're still more than twelve hours ahead of us,' the marshal explained. 'Nothin' to do but keep on their tails.'
Andy bit on an oath; he knew it was the only way, but the thought of Tonia in the hands of the bandit, of whose way with a woman there were many tales current on the Border, made him furious.
Camp-fires were lighted, food eaten, sentries posted, and the rest of the men turned in, conscious of a still harder day's work to come.
When the cold light of the coming dawn showed above the eastern horizon the rescue party forded the stream and plunged into what was to all of them, save perhaps the Indian, unknown territory. The tracks they were following headed straight into what appeared to be an expanse of open country, but the guide turned sharply to the right, pointing his horse's head towards a jumble of rocky ridges, the valleys and gorges between which were hidden by close-growing timber.
'We're leavin' the trail; that's a risk, ain't it?' Andy asked. 'The Injun is wise to his work,' Green replied. 'This way may be harder, but I'm bettin' he's got a reason, an' a good one.'
Midday found them clear of the barrier of broken country and they saw ahead a broad, billowing stretch of semi-desert, walled in on the far horizon by a jagged line of purple hills.
'Git ready to be grilled, boys,' Renton warned, his slitted eyes squinting at the view. 'We're pointin' Pinacate way, seemin'ly--volcanic country--all lava an' cactus. I've heard of it. We'll need all the water we can carry; wells ain't any too frequent.'
A meal was eaten, canteens filled at a neighbouring creek, and the journey resumed. Speed was out of the question in the soft sand, and before they had gone very far the Double S foreman's prophecy was being fulfilled. From the sun flaming in the turquoise sky came a stream of heat which burnt like a hot iron, and absorbed perspiration before it had time to form.
'I know now just how the steak feels in the pan,' Rusty groaned. 'All we want is a nice li'l dust-storrn.'
Hour after hour they plodded on, halting only at long intervals for a brief meal and a gulp of the tepid contents of their canteens. The approach of night, with cooler air, afforded welcome relief after the sweltering heat. The character of the desert too was changing; the sand was thinning out and hummocks of vitreous rock began to appear. Presently, at the base of a pile of these, the. guide pulled up and slid from his saddle.
'Je-ru-sa-lem!' breathed one of the Double S riders. 'Am I seein' things or is that real water?'
At the foot of the rocks lay a little pool, shining like a mirror in the last rays of the setting sun.
'It's water, shore enough,' another assured him, and tugged on his reins. 'Steady, yu son of a devil; vu ain't going to roll in it; we gotta use it too.'
Black Feather, who had brought them to it, was a popular member of the party, despite his copper skin. Pete voiced the general opinion:
'Shore was a lucky day for us, Jim, when yu snatched that Injun back from the happy hunting-grounds,' he said.
The horses were watered, hobbled, and turned loose to search for the scattered clumps of gramma grass, while their masters squatted round the fires--for desert nights are bitterly cold--and swallowed a much-needed meal. The marshal had a chat with their guide and then joined Andy, Pete, and Renton.
'We're pointin' for Moraga's headquarters, an' the Injun reckons we'll make it some time day after to- morrow,' he told them. 'Like I figured, this is a short cut, but if they've got the girl there ahead of us, we'll have to study the layout an' plan accordin'. Get all the sleep yu can; it'll be hard goin' the rest o' the way.'
The morning light confirmed his statement. In front of them stretched an apparently endless expanse of black lava, fantastically fashioned into ridges, shelves, spires, and massed blocks as though a mighty molten sea had suddenly been frozen into immobility. The edges of the broken lava were as keen as knives.
'Good thing the Injun held out for shod hosses,' the marshal remarked, as they commenced the journey. 'A few miles o' this would peel the horn clean off their hoofs.'
'Well, I dunno what the other trail's like, but I'm votin' for it,' Pete said, as his horse slipped on a shining slope and fought furiously to recover its footing.
Helpless targets of a relentless sun, parched by a thirst they dared not satisfy, the riders slipped and slithered on across the burnt-out, forbidding wilderness. For the most part they rode in silence, for inattention to one's mount might mean an awkward accident, but occasionally a rider relieved his feelings with a fervent but humorous curse.
'Hell won't interest me none at all now,' Rusty was heard to complain. 'Guess I'll have to try for the other place.'
Night found them still on the desert, camped at the base of a pinnacle of rock. They had found no more water, but by pulping the interiors of some barrel cactus they managed to supply the needs of themselves and their mounts. Dead mesquite branches provided a fire, but it was a miserable one, for fuel was hard to find. So that it was good news to hear that the next day would see them clear of the desert.
And so it proved. Early in the afternoon they halted in a long, deep arroyo which contained more vegetation than they had seen for two days. All of this meant water, and they soon found a tiny, sparkling creek.
'Moraga's settlement ain't far away from here,' the marshal said. 'Me an' Pete is goin' to prospect it some. If we ain't back in a coupla hours yu better come an' look for us. This is a good place to leave the hosses.'
Discarding their own mounts and rifles, the two men traversed the arroyo and emerged, with due caution, into the open. Hidden behind lumps of storm-riven lava, they got their first view of the bandit settlement. It proved to be a mere collection of hovels, mostly with rock walls and sodded roofs, clustered beneath the shadow of a jagged cliff, the curving shape of which showed that it had once been part of the wall of a crater. Zigzagging steeply up the weathered face was a narrow path leading to a ledge about two-thirds of the way up. Only one building justifying the name was to be seen--a stout cabin of untrimmed logs standing in the centre of the other habitations.
'That'll be Mister Moraga's mansion, yu betcha,' Pete observed. 'Lie close--there's a fella who might come our way.'
'I'm hopin' he does,' the marshal said.
His wish was granted; the man, stepping jauntily and humming a song, passed close to their hiding-place. A quick clutch, which effectively closed his windpipe, and he was behind the boulder, a gun-barrel boring into his ribs.
'Silence, they say, is golden,' a voice whispered. 'Noise, for yu, amigo, will be leaden. Savvy?'
Apparently the prisoner did, for he submitted silently while his pistol and knife were removed from his belt. Seated on the ground with his back to the rock, he glared in amaze at the grinning cowboys.
'Now yu can talk, amigo, an' I'm advisin' yu to,' the marshal said, 'Where is El Diablo?'
'Senor Moraga ees in ze beeg cabeen,' he said sullenly, adding with vicious emphasis, 'he keel you for dees.'
'Mebbe,' the marshal agreed. 'How many men has he got?'
The Mexican's eyes gleamed cunningly. 'Ten,' he said. Green shrugged his shoulders and glanced meaningly at the cactus patch. The effect was immediate. 'Twenty,' came the correction. The Mexican stood up. 'Madre de Dios! I spik true, senor; I swear it,' the captive cried, crossing himself fervently. 'Twenty onlee--no count me.'
'Yo're dead right to leave yoreself out,' the marshal said. 'Where's the girl?' The man looked at him stupidly. 'The American senorita fetched in this mornin' by four o' yore men,' Green added.
It was a guess, but a good one. The Mexican hesitated, but an impatient movement on the part of Pete decided him; these thrice-damned Gringos were not to be trifled with.
'In ze beeg cabeen,' he muttered.
Marching the fellow back into the brush, they tied his hands and feet securely, using his own sash for the purpose, and left him there.
'If we don't make it back yu'll be in pore luck,' the marshal told him. 'Yu better pray--hard--for our success.'
