CHAPTER XXIV
THE RUSE OF ROSEMARY
Well it was that a body of fighters with the experience of the United States troopers and the cowboys from Diamond X ranch went up against the Yaquis, and not some brave but rash band of rescuers. The latter would have been defeated almost at once for the Indians had picked out an admirable place in which to make their last stand.
They had retreated into the mountains, along a trail that only the most hardy could follow. Then, finding, as they doubtless did, that their pursuers were ever at their heels, they hastened to what was, virtually, a natural fortress—a nook among the rocky walls of the defile. From there they shot at the approaching troopers and cowboys.
"No useless risks!" ordered Captain Marshall, as he and his men came up to the attack.
The Yaquis had several distinct advantages in their favor. They were up above the rescuers and could fire down on them, while the boy ranchers and their friends had not only to fight but to climb up, and the latter was a handicap.
Then the Indians had what was almost like a rocky fort to protect them, while those making the attack had to approach pretty much in the open. Of course there were rocks that could be used as cover, but these were so scattered that it prevented the approach of the men in a body. Individuals could creep from rock to rock, and so advance, but there could be no concerted rush against the Yaquis, and that was what was needed to overcome them.
However the fight was only in its early stages yet, and, like a football game, one could not tell what would happen until the final whistle was blown. Captain Marshall was a veteran fighter and could be depended on. His men realized this, and so did the outfit from Diamond X.
There was nothing very spectacular about this fight. Little of it could have been seen by an observer, if you except the spurts of smoke from unseen guns and the echoes caused by the shots. For each man, on both sides, was firing from cover. The Yaquis had the advantage that their cover—a big wall of rock—sheltered many of them in an almost straight line, and they could fire in volleys on signal, while the soldiers and cowboys had to fire individually and at odd times, as they made their way from one sheltering stone to another.
Thus the Yaquis could concentrate their fire on one man if they had a glimpse of some incautiously exposed arm or leg, while no one soldier could hope to inflict much damage on a crowd of Indians behind a thick stone wall.
But the fight was not so unequal as seemed at first sight. For while the Yaquis were strongly entrenched, they were outnumbered—of that there was little doubt. And they were fighting picked men, who had been in many dangerous skirmishes and fights, whereas the Indians were at best but a sort of brigand bushwhackers.
Each side was desperate, perhaps the Indians more so, for they must have realized that they would be given short shrift if any harm now came to Rosemary and Floyd. The soldiers and cowboys would not hesitate to take swift and sure vengeance. So the Indians must fight to the bitter end, selling their lives as dearly as possible.
"I just wonder if Rosemary and Floyd are up in that nest of beggars?" mused Bud, as he and his cousins were at last allowed to proceed up the defile, toward where the Yaquis were making their last stand. Bud had begged so hard to be allowed to go to the front, to at least help his cousins load their weapons if nothing else, that permission had been granted.
The boy ranchers were close together now, each sheltered behind a rock, and almost in line with the foremost of the attackers who were under the shadow of the natural fort, behind the wall of which the Yaquis were making their last stand.
"I hope they are up there," said Nort, answering Bud's question. "If they brought them this far they probably wouldn't do away with them now. They must be up there!"
"I wish we had them down here," said Dick. "It's going to be hard work to get the imps out of their den!"
"You supplied two good earfuls that time, kid!" said Rolling Stone. "Ah, you will, will you!" he added quickly, and he fired at an exposed head over the top of the wall that hid the Indians.
There was a howl of pain mingled with rage, that could be heard above the din of the fighting.
"You nipped him!" cried Yellin' Kid.
"I tried to," grimly said Rolling Stone.
And so the fighting went on, in pot-shot fashion, with occasional volleys from the Yaquis.
"They're only wasting their lead," spoke Captain Marshall. "But I wonder where they got so many cartridges?"
"Likely they made another raid," suggested Snake.
This, later, was found to be the case. A store keeper had been killed and his stock looted, provisions and arms being taken.
If the boy ranchers and their friends could have looked behind the natural wall of rock, which constituted the fort that proved to be the last stand of the Yaquis, and if they could have looked farther, into a big cave, the mouth of which was concealed from a view below by this same wall, their questions as to Rosemary and Floyd would have been answered.
For the captives were there. Weary, apprehensive, tired and fairly ill from their hardships, Rosemary and her brother had been thrust into the cavern when the Yaquis reached this vantage place, knowing their pursuers were close behind them.
"Something's up!" Floyd had said as they were rudely hustled into the hiding place.
"I hope it's the end," said Rosemary dismally. Poor girl! She was about done up, and she no longer had her weapon as a means of defence. By a ruse it had been taken from her, though she and Floyd fought desperately to retain it. But Mike, as one of his men snatched it away, only laughed at them.
"The end! What do you mean?" asked Floyd.
"I mean I think this will be the last fight. You can tell by the way they thrust us in here, and hurried out with their guns, that something unusual is taking place. I believe our rescuers are coming!"
"That's what we thought when they sent us off in charge of Mike and the smaller gang," observed Floyd.
"Yes, but this is different!" declared Rosemary. "They can't get out of this place in a hurry, and once our friends, whether soldiers or cowboys from Uncle Henry's ranch, get this far, they'll never give up until they break through the Indians."
"If they only do!" murmured Floyd. He was cut and bruised from a fight he had with two of the Yaquis, when he endeavored to go to the aid of his sister, as her weapon was wrested from her. Floyd's left arm was badly wrenched, so he could hardly use it.
And then, after the hurried thrusting into the cave of the captives, had come the first shots of the soldier scouts in response to the fire of the Yaqui sentry.
"They're here!" cried Floyd, when it became very evident that an attack in force was going on.
"Oh! I'm glad!" exclaimed Rosemary, and tears of relief came to sooth her ragged nerves.
They went as close as they dared to the mouth of the cave to look at the backs of the Yaquis who were lined up along the wall firing down on the soldiers and cowboys. No guard was stationed at the entrance to the cavern—none was needed. The rear was a wall of solid rock, as Rosemary and her brother had discovered soon after being rushed into it. In front of the entrance was a rocky platform, and extending along the outer edge of this, in the form of a semicircle, was the defending wall of stone.
This rocky wall dropped abruptly down into the defile where the cowboys and soldiers were making the attack. It would be almost impossible to descend it. The way up was by a narrow passage which was now choked by rocks the Indians had piled there.
On either side of the cavern's entrance the rock rose in steep slopes, not altogether impossible of being scaled, but a hindrance to a quick retreat. That is what Captain Marshall meant when he said the Yaquis were practically backed up against a stone wall.
The firing became sharper and quicker and the reports of the guns of the attackers sounded nearer. They were, in fact, creeping up, taking advantage of every bit of cover.
There were casualties on both sides, Dick being put out of the game by a bullet through his right arm. Fortunately it only entered the flesh, breaking no bones. But he was ordered to the rear, much to his disgust. Nort and Bud still stuck, Bud helping Nort in loading.
Perhaps the situation was hardest on Rosemary and Floyd, for they were obliged to remain in the cave, doing nothing, and fearing the worst. If the Indians succeeded in standing off the rescuers, or in killing so many of them that the survivors would not dare rush the place, what would it mean to the captives?
Rosemary dared not think of it.
Then, following a period of unusually heavy firing, the plucky girl made up her mind to act.
"Floyd!" she exclaimed, "I'm desperate! I'm going to do something!
"Not—you're not going to—"
Floyd stumbled over expressing the fear that she was going to rush out and throw herself over the rocky wall.
"It's just a chance," went on Rosemary, "but I'm going to take it. A desperate chance!"
"But what, Rosemary?"
"I'm going to play a trick on these Indians! I think I can do it!"
"A trick?"
"Yes. As soon as the next period of heavy firing quiets down I'm going to rush out, yelling, and point back to the cave. I want you to do the same."
"But what good will it do?"
"It will give the Indians the impression that our friends—or some one—has managed to get up the rocks, and that they are coming from the rear. There may be an entrance into that cave from the back. I don't know, and I don't believe these Indians do. Anyhow if we rush out, all excited, yelling as hard as we can, and pointing to the cave back of us, I think the Yaquis will take the alarm and become so confused that our friends, whoever they are out there, will be able to rush this position."
As yet, you must understand, Rosemary and her brother were unaware of the identity of the attackers.
Rosemary started up from where she was sitting in their extemporized and miserable prison cave. It was evidently her intention to put into operation at once her desperate plan.
"Wait a minute!" exclaimed her brother.
"What for?" she questioned.
"I'm not so sure that it is the best thing to do," he answered.
Floyd was rather less impulsive than his sister—that is on occasions.
There were times when he could be more hot headed.
"Well, what else is there to do?" Rosemary asked.
She was going to be perfectly fair about it, and if Floyd had anything better to offer as a suggestion she would listen to him.
"Let's think about it a bit longer," he finally said, with a long intaking of breath, which told more plainly than words, how the situation was oppressing him. "I'm sure it's mighty plucky of you, Rosemary, to lay out such a plan as this, but I don't believe I ought to let you try it. Something might happen."
"Something is going to happen anyhow," she said, with ominous quiet, and a grim tightness showed in the lines of her mouth. "I believe these Indians have just about reached the end of their rope. They have been very patient with us—that is patient from their standpoint. Now they have met with opposition, and they must know if they are overpowered it will be to our advantage, and that our friends, or whoever is out there firing, will take revenge."
"That's so," agreed Floyd.
"Well then, we've just got to do something!" said Rosemary, desperately. "And I'm going to do it."
Again she started up.
"Wait a minute!" exclaimed her brother again.
He seemed to be listening. He leaned forward, and then softly arose from where he was sitting and went forward.
"What is it?" asked his sister in a low voice.
"I thought I heard voices—good old United States voices, and not this jargon of Mexican and Spanish," was the reply. "Maybe some of the attackers, whoever they are, have broken through."
A look of delighted joy came over the face of Rosemary. But a moment later it faded away and she seemed hopeless.
"It can't be," she said. "There'd be a lot of yelling and shouting if any of those who are attacking the Yaquis had broken through their lines," she went on. "There's no use waiting, Floyd. Let's try my plan!"
But her brother was not yet convinced.
"It will be all right if it works," he agreed. "But if it fails, and they only have the laugh on us, we'll be treated so much the worse. I don't mind on my own account—but yours!" and he glanced at his sister.
"I hadn't thought of that," spoke Rosemary in a low voice. "If it should—fail—why—"
She did not complete the sentence.
"It would only make them more angry, I'm afraid," went on Floyd.
There was silence, for a time, between brother and sister. It was broken only by occasional and distant shouts, punctuated, now and again, by a shot. But the heavy fusillade had subsided for a time.
"Well?" questioned Rosemary.
She was eager to get some action.
"This is what I'll do," said Floyd, after some tense consideration,
"I'll take a look around and see how matters shape up."
"Then what?" asked Rosemary.
She was evidently not going to let the matter go by default.
"Well, then if I can't see anything better to do then what you proposed, we'll go to it!" decided Floyd. "You sit here and I'll scurry around. I won't be long."
"No, please don't," begged Rosemary. "If we're going to do anything we'll have to do it very soon. This can't last—much longer!"
Floyd did not stop to ask his sister just what she meant. In fact he did not dare question her as to what it was that could not last "much longer." He had a desperate fear that it was Rosemary's own spirit that was on the point of breaking.
Up to now she had kept up her courage remarkably well. But there was a limit, and if the breaking point had been reached Floyd did not know what would follow.
He shot a quick look at the girl before he started out on what he thought might be a last desperate venture. He felt that he might discover something to do—some way of escape—that would not make it necessary for his sister to virtually rush into danger.
And he was relieved when he saw the calm and cool look that was on
Rosemary's face.
"She isn't going to give up!" decided Floyd.
There was an exultant feeling in his heart.
During this talk between brother and sister the dirty Indian detailed to guard the captives had sauntered within view of them every now and then. To quiet his suspicions, in case he should have any, Rosemary and Floyd had spoken most casually on these occasions.
The lad waited until the guard had come on one of his periodic trips of inspection and had dropped out of sight on a ledge of rock, and then Floyd started out.
"Don't be too long!" called Rosemary in a low voice.
"I won't!" he promised.
Walking as aimlessly as he could pretend, Floyd started toward a break in the natural wall that ran in front of the prison cavern. He wanted to see if he could catch a glimpse of the Yaquis below him.
"And I'd give a whole lot of money—if I had it—to see who is fighting them," thought Floyd. "But I haven't much left."
He glanced ruefully down at his now soiled and torn garments. And as he thrust his hands into his pockets he missed many a trinket and possession. For nearly everything had been taken away by Paz, Mike or some of their rascally followers.
Two or three Indians, some of them wounded, were coming back "from the front," so to speak. One of them glanced scowlingly at Floyd, as he passed the lad, evidently associating his wounds with the presence of the prisoner.
"I'd give you a whole lot worse than that if I had a chance—Ugly
Face!" thought Floyd.
Another member of the renegade band grinned or—Floyd took it for a grin—as he passed. But none of them seemed to care where the lad went or what he did, and for this Floyd was glad.
"I seem to be getting somewhere," he murmured. "Whether I can hit on any scheme to beat Rosemary's is a question, but I don't want her to take the risk unless there's nothing else to do."
He had now reached a low spot in the natural rocky wall. He felt that if he could once get a glimpse at this point he might see something that would help him and Rosemary.
And to his great delight, when he had sauntered, as casually as he could make it, to an observation point, what he saw made him gasp for breath.
For, grouped closely together, below him, on a sort of big table of rock, were a number of the Yaquis. They appeared to be holding a sort of council or parley, and were gathered about an Indian to whom Mike and Paz often delegated certain duties.
But this was not what caused the heart of Floyd to thump so desperately against his ribs, making such a noise, he wildly feared, that the pounding would be heard by some passing Indian.
What caused him fairly to gasp for breath was the sight of a great boulder, poised on the edge of the natural wall, and hanging almost directly over the group of talking Indians.
"If I can push that rock down on them it will do the trick!" thought Floyd. "It'll put some of 'em out of business, and the rest will be so frightened that they'll retreat. Then whoever is out there trying to break through to help us, will have matters their own way. That's what I'll do. Ill pry that rock loose and let it dash 'em on the heads."
It was a horrible thing to think of, much more horrible to do, but the situation of Rosemary and Floyd was desperate indeed. The end seemed to justify the means.
"The point is," mused Floyd, "can I shove that rock down?"
Looking about him he saw that he was not observed. He quickly made his way nearer to the rock, and then, reaching out his hands, he pushed.
Gently at first he exerted the pressure, and then putting more power into the shove he thrust with all his might.
"It's giving! It's giving!" thought Floyd, with a desperate catch of his breath. "I can shove it down on 'em and dash 'em all up!"
He exerted all his strength. The rock was moving, and even with all the villainies the Indians had to their discredit Floyd's nerve almost failed him as he saw the great boulder sway as if for the plunge.
But to his chagrin he felt the rock move back toward him again. He tried to hold it away—to thrust it from him—but nature, in the guise of the attraction of gravitation—pulled the rock back into the socket-shaped bed where it had rested so long.
It rolled back with a grinding sound, and Floyd feared, for a moment that he had loosened it so that it would topple back and fall upon his feet.
But this did not happen. The great half-round stone oscillated to and fro and then came to rest. Floyd had only caused it to sway a little.
"Well, I moved it!" he said with a gasp. "I'll try again. If I can only get it started it will do the trick."
Again he pushed, with all his might, but again the same thing happened. He managed to make the rock sway outward, a little farther over the edge of the wall, but back it came again into its hollow resting place.
Then Floyd understood the nature of the matter.
"It's a balanced rock," he said to himself. "She's been resting here for ages, and you can move it just so far but no farther. It would take a team of army mules to dislodge it."
He looked over the wall again. The Indians were still in the same place, eagerly talking—a score or more of feet below the boy.
"It's too good a chance to miss!" whispered Floyd desperately. "I wonder if I can't find some sort of a lever and pry it loose."
He looked about him. Not far away was part of a dead tree branch, thick as his arm.
"Just what I need!" he exclaimed.
He ran to pick up the branch and, returning with it, set one end under the balanced rock, that was still swaying slightly from his exertions.
"Now for a last try!" murmured the lad.
He bent his weight on the long end of the improvised lever. The rock seemed to rise from its socket bed, and to sway outward. There was an exultation in the boy's heart. He thought, in another instant, that he could send the great stone crashing down into the midst of the Yaquis.
Then, suddenly there came a sharp report, and Floyd felt himself falling.
His first feeling was that he had been shot and that this was the end. But he felt no pain, save a sudden bump as he sprawled on the rocks, and then he realized what had happened.
He had pressed so heavily on the old and dried piece of wood that it had snapped and broken with a report like that of a pistol, and he had dropped.
"Too bad!" murmured Floyd.
As he picked himself up he saw two of the Yaqui Indians running around a rocky corner. They had evidently been drawn to the place by the sound.
"No good letting them know what I tried to do," quickly decided Floyd.
"It would only make it worse for us."
Having decided on a line of action it did not take the lad an instant to carry it out. Quickly he picked up the broken pieces of his lever and started back with them toward the cave where he and his sister were held captives.
"Make fire!" he said to the Indians. "Make fire—cook grub!"
"Ugh!" they grunted. They evidently accepted this obvious explanation.
Their suspicions lulled, they turned and went back the way they had come, pausing long enough, however, to watch Floyd enter the cave where Rosemary waited.
"Well," she questioned, as he threw the broken ends of his lever on the rocky floor.
"No go," answered Floyd despondently. "I had a peach of a chance to play a trump hand on them, but luck was against me."
He told what he had tried to do with the rock.
"Oh? I—I'm almost glad it didn't succeed!" said Rosemary with a shudder. "It would have been—terrible!"
"Nothing is too bad for these devils!" cried Floyd. "But I give up. I can't think of anything more to do."
"Then shall I try my way?" asked his sister.
"It is a desperate chance," Floyd murmured.
"But don't you think we ought to try it? We may be able to reach the wall, and get over, or go down the trail we came up. It was too steep for the horses, but maybe we can make it."
The horses had been abandoned by the Yaquis as they entrenched themselves for this last stand. The animals could not make the ascent.
"Well?" asked Rosemary of her brother.
"I'm with you!" he said, with a sharp intaking of his breath.
Then they got ready for the ruse Rosemary had proposed.