The Yaquis were once among the best of the Mexican Indian tribes. Though not large in numbers they were clean-living and of high character. The Spanish conquest of Mexico marked the beginning of the end for them, as it did many another Mexican race.
There was once a great civilization existing in the narrow strip of land connecting North and South America. Now only the faintest traces remain.
Once the Indian tribes flourished, they may even have had a written language, of which now only a few idiograms remain. The men and women were skilled in basketry, pottery and the making of gold and silver ornaments.
But they fell upon evil days, or evil days came to them, it matters little which, and they began to go down. Today there are only a few thousands of the Yaquis left, and they have degenerated into train robbers along the Southern Pacific line. They live like beasts, they have mingled with negroes, degenerate Spaniards and Mexicans until it is almost an insult to apply the name "Indian" to them.
And it was a band of such natives as this that had captured Rosemary and Floyd. Kept as much as possible to the confines of what might be termed, unofficially, a reservation, the Yaquis occasionally broke through the line of Mexican soldier guards and went on a rampage, often crossing the border into Arizona, as happened in the spring of 1921, when several Americans were killed in a border town.
It was an uprising of this same nature which had spelled trouble for Rosemary and her brother. They had happened along at the wrong time, as it were.
Tired and weary, in body and spirit, the captives were urged forward. "Mike" as our friends had dubbed him, seemed good natured enough, for he kept a perpetual grin on his face. His mission seemed to be to ride between Rosemary and Floyd, and prevent any collusion to escape.
However there was no time or chance to think of that now. The cavalcade filed along a narrow, rocky gorge, from which there was no side trail. Paz and some of his more intimate followers rode in the van, and the rear guard was made up of ragged Indians—with apologies for using the name.
Rosemary and Floyd would not have had a chance had they been able to turn their horses and make a bolt for it. So they must ride on. They were too weary to talk now, they could only hope for the best. When would the rescuers come?
A halt was made at noon, and some coarse food was passed to the captives. Rosemary shuddered at it and turned away.