“Follow me and do as I do.”
A hundred feet away, a hollow in the uneven ground made a deeper shadow. Lying prone, the Indian crawled to the little depression. The girl followed close behind. For a moment they lay side by side in the hollow, then the Indian rose and stooping low ran for the dark mass of a mesquite tree some fifty yards farther on.
Again Marta imitated his movements.
“Good!” whispered the Indian as she crouched, breathless, beside him. “But from here on there are too many dry sticks and things for you to stumble over and we must go swiftly.”
Before she realized his purpose, he had caught her up in his arms, and keeping the tree between them and the house, was running swift and silent as a wolf through the brush. When they were at a safe distance, the Indian circled to the right and so gained the shelter of the corral fence, with the corral which was north of the house between them and the ramada where the three men were still sitting. Putting the girl down, he whispered:
“If you should make any noise now, they will think it is the horses, but be careful.”
Following the back fence of the corral, they were soon some distance east of the house. Then, still keeping the fences between them and the three men on the ramada, Natachee led the way toward a mesquite thicket in a sandy wash between two low ridges where Hugh was waiting with the horses.
There was no time for greetings. Scarcely had they gained their saddles when a yell came from the house, and in the light that streamed from the open door of the room where the gamblers had been carousing, they could see the dark forms of the men gather in answer to the alarm. Clearly they heard the voice of Sonora Jack crying:
“Se fue la muchacha! Los caballos! A seguir la!—The girl is gone! The horses! To follow her!”
When the Indian made no move to go, but sat calmly watching the lights and listening to the voices of the outlaws as they called to one another while saddling their horses, Edwards said impatiently: