"Maybe we'll see that soon, Floyd. And maybe the boys from the Diamond X will come to our rescue. You know Bud's mother wrote that he and his two eastern cousins had a ranch of their own now. My message ought to reach some one."
"I hope it does, Rosemary. But who's this coming up?"
The talk of brother and sister had attracted the attention of the Indians, and there had been muttered comments. Following this one of the knot of guards around the two captives had spurred ahead to where Paz rode. Then back with the messenger came riding an Indian better mounted and equipped than most of the members of the band.
He forced his horse between the steeds of Rosemary and Floyd, and gave each of them a grin he may have intended to be friendly.
"What's the idea—Mike?" asked Floyd.
"Mike? Why do you call him that?" asked Rosemary.
"Because he looks friendly enough to be an Irishman," was the answer. "See, he has a turned up nose, I verily believe he has Irish blood in him. Let's call him Mike."
"Mike" grinned, though doubtless he understood nothing of what was said.
"He does look Irish," agreed Rosemary. "But I don't see how."
The explanation probably was that some wandering, adventuring Irishman had married an Indian woman. The Yaquis, like many other Indian or native tribes often intermarried. In fact it was this that in a measure led to their downfall. For they lost the ideals of their race, disease crept in and to-day many a band of what was once a noble people is but a dragged-out remnant, steeped in crime.