and Luck's hand trembled with nervous irritability when he turned back and handed Applehead one of those small, shrill police whistles whose sound carries so far, and which are much 184
SET AFOOT
used by motion-picture producers for the longdistance direction of scenes.
' I happened to have a couple in my pocket,' he explained hurriedly. ' You know the signals, don't you ? One long, two short will mean you've picked up the trail. Three or more short, quick ones is an emergency call, for all hands to come running.'
' Well, they's one thing you want to keep in mind, Luck,' Applehead urged from his superior trail craft. ' They might be sharp enough to ride in here a ways and come out the same side they rode in at. Yuh want to hunt both sides as yuh go up.'
' Sure,' said Luck, and hurried away up the arroyo with Pink, Big Medicine, Andy and the Native Son at his heels, leading the two pack-horses that belonged to their party. In the opposite direction went Applehead and the others, their eyes upon the ground watching for the faintest sign of hoofprints.
That blazing ball of torment, the sun, slid farther and farther down to the skyline, tempering its heat with the cool promise of dusk. Away up 185
THE HERITAGE OF THE SIOUX
the arroyo, Luck stopped for breath after a sharp climb up through a narrow gash in the sheer wall of what was now a small canon, and saw that to search any farther in that direction would be useless. Across the arroyo — that had narrowed and deepened until it was a canon — Andy Green was mopping his face with his handkerchief and studying a bold hump of jumbled bowlders and ledges, evidently considering whether it was worth while toiling up to the top. A little below him, the Native Son was flinging rocks at a rattlesnake with the vicious precision of frank abhorrence. Down in the canon bottom Big Medicine and Pink were holding the horses on the shady side of the gorge, and the smoke of their cigarettes floated lazily upward with the jumbled monotone of their voices.
Andy, glancing across at Luck, waved his hand and sat down on a rock that was shaded by a high bowlder; reached mechanically for his ' makings ' and with his feet far apart and his elbows on his thighs, wearily rolled a cigarette.
' How about it, boss ?' he asked, scarcely raising his voice above the ordinary conversational tone, though a hard fifteen-minutes' climb up and 186
SET AFOOT
down separated the two ; ' they never came up the arroyo, if you ask me. My side don't show a hoof track from where we left the boys down below.'
' Mine either,' Luck replied, by the power of suggestion seating himself and reaching for his own tobacco and papers. ' We might as well work back down and connect with Applehead. Wish there was some sign of water in this darn gulch. By the time we get down where we started from, it'll be sundown.' He glanced down at Bud and Pink. ' Hey! You can start back any time,' he called. ' Nothing up this way.'
' Here's the grandfather of all rattlers,' Miguel called across to Luck, and held up by the tail a great snake that had not ceased its muscular writh-ings. ' Twelve rattles and a button. Have I got time to skin him ? He tried to bite me on the leg — but I heard him and got outa reach.'
' We've got to be moving,' Luck answered. ' It's a long ways back where we started from, and we've got to locate water, if we can.' He rose with the deliberateness that indicated tired muscles, and started back; and to himself he muttered exasperatedly: ' A good three hours all 187
shot to pieces — and not a mile gained on that bunch!'
The Native Son, calmly pinching the rattles off the snake he had not time to skin, climbed down into the canon and took his horse Hby the bridle reins. Behind him Andy Green came scrambling; but Luck, still faintly hoping for a clue, kept to the upper rim of the arroyo, scanning every bit of soft ground where it seemed possible for a horse to climb up from below. He had always recognized the native cunning of Ramon, but he had never dreamed him as cunning as this latest ruse would seem to prove him.
As for Bill Holmes, Luck dismissed him with a shrug of contempt. Bill Holmes had been stranded in Albuquerque when the cold weather was coming on; he had been hungry and shelterless and ill-clad — one of those bits of flotsam -which drift into our towns and stand dejectedly upon our street-corners when they do not prowl down alleys to the back doors of our restaurants in the hope of being permitted to wash the soiled dishes of more fortunate men for the food which diners have left beside their plates. Luck had fed 188
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Bill Holmes, and he had given him work to do and the best food and shelter he could afford; and for thanks, Bill had — as Luck believed — made sly, dishonest love to Annie-Many-Ponies, for whose physical and moral welfare Luck would be held responsible. Bill had deliberately chosen to steal rather than work for honest wages, and had preferred the unstable friendship of Eamon Chavez to the cleaner life in Luck's company. He did not credit Bill Holmes with anything stronger than a weak-souled treachery. Eamon, he told himself while he made his way down the arroyo side, was at least working out a clever scheme of his own, and it rested with Luck and his posse to see that Eamon was cheated of success.
So deeply was he engrossed that before he realized it he was down where they had left Apple-head's party. There was no sign of them anywhere, so Luck went down and mounted his horse and led the way down the arroyo.
Already the heat was lessening and the land was
taking on those translucent opal tints which make
of New Mexico a land of enchantment. The far
hills enveloped themselves in a faint, purplish haze
THE HERITAGE OF THE SIOUX
through which they seemed to blush unwittingly. The mesa, no longer showing itself an arid waste of heat and untracked wilderness, lay soft under a thin veil of many ethereal tints. Away off to the northeast they heard the thin, vague clamor of a band of sheep and the staccato barking of a dog.
