"Don't, Floyd!" his sister advised in the same low tone. "We have no chance but to submit, and wait for help. I've heard of these Yaquis. There aren't enough men in La Nogalique to cope with them except troopers come. And they're far enough off."
"Just give in, and hope for the best. But don't let them separate us—whatever—whatever you have to do."
There was a catch in the girl's voice, but this was the only evidence of fear she had shown. She was a true "sport."
"But what do you suppose their game is?" asked Floyd, and during this talk between brother and sister, the Yaqui leader, stood regarding them quizzically.
"I don't know," Rosemary answered. "This is just one of their
periodical raids, I guess, and they have just added us to their list.
But we'll have to do as they tell us—at least for the time being.
Help me down, Floyd."
He assisted her out of the car. Paz, smiling—or perhaps grinning would be the better word—came toward them, and motioned with his hand toward the gun Floyd had put up.
"You don't get it,—Paz unless you want the business end!" snapped out Floyd, and his hand edged toward the weapon with no mistake in his meaning.
In an instant he was "covered" by the gun in the hand of the Indian, and Rosemary changed the scream she had started to utter to the advice:
"Give it up, Floyd! They haven't seen mine and don't know I have one.
Maybe I can get by with it!"
Floyd almost sighed as he passed over his weapon, butt first, in the accepted style of surrendering. Paz grinned again, and motioned to his men to come up. One of them began loosening a lariat at his saddle horn.