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The greeting between Mercedes and Thorne was calm--strangely so, it seemed to
Gale. But he was calm himself. Ladd smiled at him, and evidently would have
spoken had he the power. Yaqui then joined the group, and his piercing eyes
roved from one to the other, lingering longest over Ladd.
"Dick, I'm figger'n hard," said Jim, faintly. "In a minute it 'll
be up to you an' Mercedes. I've about shot my bolt....Reckon you'll do-- best
by bringin' up blankets--water--salt--firewood.
Laddy's got--one chance--in a hundred. Fix him up--first. Use hot salt
water. If my leg's broke--set it best you can. That hole in Yaqui--only 'll
bother him a day. Thorne's bad hurt...Now rustle--Dick, old--boy."
Lash's voice died away in a husky whisper, and he quietly lay back, stretching
out all but the crippled leg. Gale examined it, assured himself the bones had
not been broken, and then rose ready to go down the trail.
"Mercedes, hold Thorne's head up, in your lap--so. Now I'll go."
On the moment Yaqui appeared to have completed the binding of his wounded
shoulder, and he started to follow Gale. He paid no attention to Gale's order
for him to stay back. But he was slow, and gradually Gale forged ahead. The
lingering brightness of the sunset lightened the trail, and the descent to the
arroyo was swift and easy. Some of the white horses had come in for water.
Blanco
Sol spied Gale and whistled and came pounding toward him. It was twilight
down in the arroyo. Yaqui appeared and began collecting a bundle of mesquite
sticks. Gale hastily put together the things he needed; and, packing them all
in a tarpaulin, he turned to retrace his steps up the trail.
Darkness was setting in. The trail was narrow, exceedingly steep, and in some
places fronted on precipices. Gale's burden was not very heavy, but its bulk
made it unwieldy, and it was always overbalancing him or knocking against the
wall side of the trail.
Gale found it necessary to wait for Yaqui to take the lead. The
Indian's eyes must have seen as well at night as by day. Gale toiled upward,
shouldering, swinging, dragging the big pack; and, though the ascent of the
slope was not really long, it seemed endless. At last they reached a level,
and were soon on the spot with Mercedes and the injured men.
Gale then set to work. Yaqui's part was to keep the fire blazing and the
water hot, Mercedes's to help Gale in what way she could.
Gale found Ladd had many wounds, yet not one of them was directly in a vital
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place. Evidently, the ranger had almost bled to death.
He remained unconcious through Gale's operations. According to
Jim Lash, Ladd had one chance in a hundred, but Gale considered it one in a
thousand. Having done all that was possible for the ranger, Gale slipped
blankets under and around him, and then turned his attention to Lash.
Jim came out of his stupor. A mushrooming bullet had torn a great hole in his
leg. Gale, upon examination, could not be sure the bones had been missed, but
there was no bad break. The application of hot salt water made Jim groan.
When he had been bandaged and laid beside Ladd, Gale went on to the
cavalryman.
Thorne was very weak and scarcely conscious. A furrow had been plowed through
his scalp down to the bone. When it had been dressed, Mercedes collapsed.
Gale laid her with the three in a row and covered them with blankets and the
tarpaulin.
Then Yaqui submitted to examination. A bullet had gone through the
Indian's shoulder. To Gale it appeared serious. Yaqui said it was a flea
bite. But he allowed Gale to bandage it, and obeyed when he was told to lie
quiet in his blanket beside the fire.
Gale stood guard. He seemed still calm, and wondered at what he considered a
strange absence of poignant feeling. If he had felt weariness it was now
gone. He coaxed the fire with as little wood as would keep it burning; he sat
beside it; he walked to and fro close by; sometimes he stood over the five
sleepers, wondering if two of them, at least, would ever awaken.
Time had passed swiftly, but as the necessity for immediate action had gone
by, the hours gradually assumed something of their normal length. The night
wore on. The air grew colder, the stars brighter, the sky bluer, and, if such
could be possible, the silence more intense. The fire burned out, and for
lack of wood could not be rekindled. Gale patrolled his short beat, becoming
colder and damper as dawn approached. The darkness grew so dense that he
could not see the pale faces of the sleepers. He dreaded the gray dawn and
the light. Slowly the heavy black belt close to the lava changed to a pale
gloom, then to gray, and after that morning came quickly.
The hour had come for Dick Gale to face his great problem. It was natural
that he hung back a little at first; natural that when he went forward to look
at the quiet sleepers he did so with a grim
and stern force urging him. Yaqui stirred, roused, yawned, got up;
and, though he did not smile at Gale, a light shone swiftly across his dark
face. His shoulder drooped and appeared stiff, otherwise he was himself.
Mercedes lay in deep slumber. Thorne had a high fever, and was beginning to
show signs of restlessness. Ladd seemed just barely alive. Jim Lash slept as
if he was not much the worse for his wound.
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