"Do you know that country?" inquired Hooker, nodding at the great plain with its chains of parallel Sierras, but the Indian shook his head.
"No," he said; "but the best way is straight for that pass."
He pointed at a distant wedge cut down between the blue of two ridges, and scanned the eastern hills intently.
"Men!" he cried, suddenly indicating the sky-line of the topmost ridge. "I think they are revoltosos," he added gravely. "They will soon cross your trail."
"No difference," answered Bud with a smile. "I am not afraid—not with you here, Amigo."
"No, but the woman!" suggested Amigo, who read no jest in his words. "It is better that you should ride on—and leave me here."
He smiled encouragingly, but a wild light was creeping into his eyes and Hooker knew what he meant. He desired to be left alone, to deal with Del Rey after the sure manner of the Yaquis. And yet, why not? Hooker gazed thoughtfully at the oncoming rurales and walked swiftly back to Gracia.
"This Indian is a friend of mine," he said, "and I can trust him. He says it will be better for us to ride on—and he will take care of the rurales."
"Take care?" questioned Gracia, turning pale at a peculiar matter-of-fact tone in his voice.
"Sure," said Hooker; "he says there are revoltosos ahead. It will be better for you, he says, to ride on."