"You must eat," Floyd told her. "Got to keep up your strength you know."
And she managed to choke down a few mouthfuls.
The afternoon passed wearily. They were going deeper into the mountains it seemed. There appeared to be some dispute between Paz on one side and a few of his followers on the other. And it seemed to have to do with a place to camp for the night. The men wanted to stop while the sun was yet in sight, but Paz insisted on going on until it was below the jagged peaks. Then he indicated a place where camp was to be made.
Mike slid off his horse, and, loosening the ropes, indicated that
Rosemary and Floyd were to do the same. So cramped and stiff was
Rosemary that she fell in a heap as she slid from the saddle. With a
cry Floyd sprang to her aid, only to be thrust back by Mike.
"What do you mean?" yelled the boy. "I want to help my sister—you—you—"
He was spluttering with rage as he raised his hand, and looked about for a rock with which to attack the Indian.
"Don't—Floyd!" called Rosemary calmly. "I am all right—just numb, that's all! Don't get into a fight. They may separate us!"
Indeed that did seem to be the orders given by Paz, who rode up a moment later. For Mike took Rosemary by the arm, and was leading her away, while another Indian, dirty, greasy and with an evil grin on his fat face, thrust Floyd to one side.
"Stop!" suddenly cried Rosemary. She swung free of Mike's grasp, and in an instant that individual was looking straight into the muzzle of a small but very serviceable automatic.