“Looks that way—’scusin’ that the Injun’d knife ye as soon as he got you alone up thar! I ain’t trustin’ no Injun. Crooked as a Mex. gambler’s deck, they be!” swore Big John emphatically.
Hano listened and watched them pointing, uneasily. He wasn’t at all sure about showing these people Red Mesa after all. He had been reasoning over it silently as their party had ridden along. He had a new plan, now, and it was this: Here were four good horses. A number of Mexicanos, a dozen at least, were coming here after these white men. Well, then, would it not be the best service he could do for his tribe to induce them to lead the Mexicanos on a wild race out into the Tule Desert along the fearful Camino del Diablo, there to lose them all somewhere in the desert? He might die of thirst himself in the attempt. That was nothing; the peace and safety of his tribe was everything—any scheme to lead them all away from Red Mesa! These white men certainly could never survive that desert!
He now grunted eagerly and began to speak earnestly to Niltci in mixed sign language and Apache. He pointed to the notch and made the sign of four horsemen with his fingers straddled over his left hand. He pointed to Blaze and made signs of concealing him in some dense cover. Then he pointed to the notch again and gave a pantomime of their party galloping through it with other horsemen in pursuit.
“I got ye, son!” grinned Big John. “We-all give ’em a desert race, hey? A-1 idee!” he chuckled. “Scotty, if I know human natur, that pisen spig, that Vasquez”—Big John spat it out like a curse—“ain’t told them guerrillas nothin’ about no mine. Stolen church property’s what they think they’re after. They’ll be considerable peeved, an’ will begin shootin’ soon’s they sight us. Now if this Vasquez starts gittin’ careless with his hardware—an’ I git one good poke at him with the old meat gun—Sho!—there won’t be nobody know nothin’ about that mine but us, see? Another thing: when he climbs Cerro Colorado and don’t see no Red Mesa, what does he do? Thinks he’s disremembered what he read on that Dago tablet, sabe? He’ll think I’m Sid, sabe, an’ he’ll chase us clar to Yuma, aimin’ to get hold of it again. We don’t want him ’round hyar, that’s sure! I’m strong fer the Apache’s racin’ scheme. Hyar’s one big chance to lose him good, savvy?”
“How about Sid?” objected Scotty.
“Oh, he’s all right! Thick as thieves with these Apaches, I’ll bet. He talks their lingo, you know.”
Still the feeling remained persistent in Scotty’s mind that all was not right with Sid. Where were these Apaches, anyhow; and why had Hano not taken them to their encampment at once?
“I’ve got it!” he exclaimed at length. “You leave Ruler with me. Go on with Niltci and the Apache and try your race stunt. Meanwhile I’ll slip away, put Ruler on Sid’s track, and so find out where he’s gone myself.”
“Not so good, son! Not so good!” approved Big John whismically. “You sorter hang back, then, an’ git away when you kin. Try along the base of them mountains. I think Sid rode off that way when he left us. You leave them greasers to us! They won’t bother you none! C’mon, fellers, le’s get movin’. We ain’t got all the time there is!”
Through Niltci he signified assent to Hano’s plan. They started across the sands for the notch which now lay in plain daylight before them glowing with the colors of the rising sun. Gradually the three ahead urged their ponies to a gallop, twisting and turning through the patches of choyas and spiny barrel cactus.