Del Pinzo gave an order, and his band of disreputable half breeds like himself, including several Indians, though not of the Yaquis tribe, marched out, hands above their heads, while Snake and his men, the boy ranchers in the van, watched.
"Is that all?" asked Snake, when the outlaws stood in a row amid the rocks. He was taking no chances on leaving a hidden, lurking foe to fire behind their backs.
"All, Senor Purdee. Shall we go?"
"When I tell you to, yes. Now, Del Pinzo, you know I don't trust you, and there's no use soft soaping the situation. I wouldn't trust you with a Mexican dollar. So here's what you've got to do.
"March over there," and he indicated a bunch of scrub about half a mile away. "Stay there until we get breakfast and are on our way. When we're far enough off I'll fire a shot, and that'll mean you can come over here again, get your horses and guns, and take after the Yaquis, if it suits you."
"We want to drive the Indians back," declared Del Pinzo.
"Yes, I reckon they're picking on your preserves, that's the reason," said Snake. "Well, this is a free country. As long as you're out of jail—though how you beat it I can't guess—you can do as you please, I s'pose—as long as it doesn't interfere with us.
"So hit any trail you like as long as it isn't ours. Now remember—don't make a break for your horses and guns until I fire a shot."
"So be it, Senor. And one thing more?"
"What is it?"