never　occurred　to　Gale　to　abandon　the　poor　fellow。　　That　was　where　his　old　training；　the　higher　order　of　human　feeling；　made　impossible　the　following　of　any　elemental　instinct　of　self…preservation。　　All　the　same；　Gale　knew　he　multiplied　his　perils　a　hundredfold　by　burdening　himself　with　a　crippled　Indian。　Swiftly　he　set　to　work；　and　with　rifle　ever　under　his　hand；　and　shifting　glance　spared　from　his　task；　he　bound　up　the　Yaqui's　wounds。　　At　the　same　time　he　kept　keen　watch。
  The　Indians'　burros　and　the　horses　of　the　raiders　were　all　out　of　sight。　　Time　was　too　valuable　for　Gale　to　use　any　in　what　might　be　a　vain　search。　　Therefore；　he　lifted　the　Yaqui　upon　Sol's　broad　shoulders　and　climbed　into　the　saddle。　　At　a　word　Sol　dropped　his　head　and　started　eastward　up　the　trail；　walking　swiftly；　without　resentment　for　his　double　burden。
  Far　ahead；　between　two　huge　mesas　where　the　trail　mounted　over　a　pass；　a　long　line　of　dust　clouds　marked　the　position　of　the　horses　that　had　escaped　from　the　corral。　　Those　that　had　been　stolen　would　travel　straight　and　true　for　home；　and　perhaps　would　lead　the　others　with　them。　　The　raiders　were　left　on　the　desert　without　guns　or　mounts。
  Blanco　Sol　walked　or　jog…trotted　six　miles　to　the　hour。　　At　that　gait　fifty　miles　would　not　have　wet　or　turned　a　hair　of　his　dazzling　white　coat。　　Gale；　bearing　in　mind　the　ever…present　possibility　of　encountering　more　raiders　and　of　being　pursued；　saved　the　strength　of　the　horse。　　Once　out　of　sight　of　Papago　Well；　Gale　dismounted　and　walked　beside　the　horse；　steadying　with　one　firm　hand　the　helpless；　dangling　Yaqui。
  The　sun　cleared　the　eastern　ramparts；　and　the　coolness　of　morning　fled　as　if　before　a　magic　foe。　　The　whole　desert　changed。　　The　grays　wore　bright；　the　mesquites　glistened；　the　cactus　took　the　silver　hue　of　frost；　and　the　rocks　gleamed　gold　and　red。　　Then；　as　the　heat　increased；　a　wind　rushed　up　out　of　the　valley　behind　Gale；　and　the　hotter　the　sun　blazed　down　the　swifter　rushed　the　wind。　The　wonderful　transparent　haze　of　distance　lost　its　bluish　hue　for　one　with　tinge　of　yellow。　　Flying　sand　made　the　peaks　dimly　outlined。
  Gale　kept　pace　with　his　horse。　　He　bore　the　twinge　of　pain　that　darted　through　his　injured　hip　at　every　stride。　　His　eye　roved　over　the　wide；　smoky　prospect　seeking　the　landmarks　he　knew。　When　the　wild　and　bold　spurs　of　No　Name　Mountains　loomed　through　a　rent　in　flying　clouds　of　sand　he　felt　nearer　home。　　Another　hour　brought　him　abreast　of　a　dark；　straight　shaft　rising　clear　from　a　beetling　escarpment。　　This　was　a　monument　marking　the　international　boundary　line。　　When　he　had　passed　it　he　had　his　own　country　under　foot。　　In　the　heat　of　midday　he　halted　in　the　shade　of　a　rock；　and；　lifting　the　Yak　down；　gave　him　a　drink。　　Then；　after　a　long；　sweeping　survey　of　the　surrounding　desert；　he　removed　Sold's　saddle　and　let　him　roll；　and　took　for　himself　a　welcome　rest　and　a　bite　to　eat。
  The　Yak　was　tenacious　of　life。　　He　was　still　holding　his　own。　For　the　first　time　Gale　really　looked　at　the　Indian　to　study　him。　He　had　a　large　head　nobly　cast；　and　a　face　that　resembled　a　shrunken　mask。　　It　seemed　chiseled　in　the　dark…red；　volcanic　lava　of　his　Sooner　wilderness。　　The　Indian's　eyes　were　always　black　and　mystic；　but　this　Yak's　encompassed　all　the　tragic　desolation　of　the　desert。　　They　were　fixed　on　Gale；　moved　only　when　he　moved。　The　Indian　was　short　and　broad；　and　his　body　showed　unusual　muscular　development；　although　he　seemed　greatly　emaciated　from　starvation　or　illness。
  Gale　resumed　his　homeward　journey。　　When　he　got　through　the　pass　he　faced　a　great　depression；　as　rough　as　if　millions　of　gigantic　spikes　had　been　driven　by　the　hammer　of　Thorn　into　a　seamed　and　cracked　floor。　　This　was　Altar　Valley。　　It　was　a　chaos　of　array's；　canyons；　rocks；　and　ridges　all　mantled　with　cactus；　and　at　its　eastern　end　it　claimed　the　dry　bed　of　Forlorn　River　and　water　when　there　was　any。　　With　a　wounded；　helpless　man　across　the　saddle；　this　stretch　of　thorny　and　contorted　desert　was　practically　impassable。　Yet　Gale　headed　into　it　unflinchingly。　　He　would　carry　the　Yaqui　as　far　as　possible；　or　until　death　made　the　burden　no　longer　a　duty。　Blanco　Sol　plodded　on　over　the　dragging　sand；　up　and　down　the　steep；　loose　banks　of　washes；　out　on　the　rocks；　and　through　the　rows　of　white…toothed　choyas。
  The　sun　sloped　westward；　bending　fiercer　heat　in　vengeful；　parting　reluctance。　　The　wind　slackened。　　The　dust　settled。　　And　the　bold；　forbidding　front　of　No　Name　Mountains　changed　to　red　and　gold。　Gale　held　grimly　by　the　side　of　the　tireless；　implacable　horse；　holding　the　Yaqui　on　the　saddle；　taking　the　brunt　of　the　merciless　thorns。　　In　the　end　it　became　heartrending　toil。　　His　heavy　chaps　dragged　him　down；　but　he　dared　not　go　on　without　them；　for；　thick　and　stiff　as　they　were；　the　terrible；　steel…bayoneted　spikes　of　the　choyas　pierced　through　to　sting　his　legs。
  To　the　last　mile　Gale　held　to　Blanco　Sol's　gait　and　kept　ever…watchful　gaze　ahead　on　the　trail。　　Then；　with　the　low；　flat　houses　of　Forlorn　River　shining　red　in　the　sunset；　Gale　flagged　and　rapidly　weakened。　　The　Yaqui　slipped　out　of　the　saddle　and　dropped　limp　in　the　sand。　　Gale　could　not　mount　his　horse。　　He　clutched　Sol's　long　tail　and　twisted　his　hand　in　it　and　staggered　on。
  Blanco　Sol　whistled　a　piercing　blast。　　He　scented　cool　water　and　sweet　alfalfa　hay。　　Twinkling　lights　ahead　meant　rest。　　The　melancholy　desert　twilight　rapidly　succeeded　the　sunset。　　It　accentuated　the　forlorn　loneliness　of　the　gray；　winding　river　of　sand　and　its　grayer　shores。　　Night　shadows　trooped　down　from　the　black　and　looming　mountains。
  VII
  White　Horses
  〃A　crippled　Yaqui！　　Why　the　hell　did　you　saddle　yourself　with　him？〃　roared　Belding；　as　he　laid　Gale　upon　the　bed。
  Belding　had　grown　hard　these　late；　violent　weeks。
  〃Because　I　chose；〃　whispered　Gale；　in　reply。　　〃Go　after　himhe　dropped　in　the　trailacross　the　rivernear　the　first　big　saguaro。〃
  Belding　began　to　swear　as　he　fumbled　with　matches　and　the　lamp；　but　as　the　light　flared　up　he　stopped　short　in　the　middle　of　a　word。
  〃You　said　you　weren't　hurt？〃　he　demanded；　in　sharp　anxiety；　as　he　bent　over　Gale。
  〃I'm　onlyall　in。。。。Will　you　goor　send　some　onefor　the　Yaqui？〃
  〃Sure；　Dick；　sure；〃　Belding　replied；　in　softer　tones。　　Then　he　stalked　out；　his　heels　rang　on　the　flagstones；　he　opened　a　door　and　called：　〃Mothergirls；　here's　Dick　back。　　He's　done　up。。。。Now　no；　no；　he's　not　hurt　or　in　bad　shape。　　You　women！。。。Do　what　you　can　to　make　him　comfortable。　　I've　got　a　little　job　on　hand。〃
  There　were　quick　replies　that　Gale's　dulling　ears　did　not　distinguish。　　Then　it　seemed　Mrs。　Belding　was　beside　his　bed；　her　presence　so　cool　and　soothing　and　helpful；　and　Mercedes　and　Nell；　wide…eyed　and　white…faced；　were　fluttering　around　him。　　He　drank　thirstily；　but　refused　food。　　He　wanted　rest。　　And　with　their　faces　drifting　away　in　a　kind　of　haze；　with　the　feeling　of　gentle　hands　about　him；　he　lost　consciousness。
  He　slept　twenty　hours。　　then　he　arose；　thirsty；　hungry；　lame；　overworn；　and　presently　went　in　search　of　Belding　and　the　business　of　the　day。
  〃Your　Yaqui　was　near　dead；　but　guess　we'll　pull　him　through；〃　said　Belding。　　〃Dick；　the　other　day　that　Indian　came　here　by　rail　and　foot　and　Lord　only　knows　how　else；　all　the　way　from　New　Orleans！　He　spoke　English　better　than　most　Indians；　and　I　know　a　little　Yaqui。　　I　got　some　of　his　story　and　guessed　the　rest。　　The　Mexican　government　is　trying　to　root　out　the　Yaquis。　　A　year　ago　his　tribe　was　taken　in　chains　to　a　Mexican　port　on　the　Gulf。　　The　fathers；　mothers；　children；　were　separated　and　put　in　ships　bound　for　Yucatan。　　There　they　were　made　slaves　on　the　great　henequen　plantations。　　They　were　driven；　beaten；　starved。　　Each　slave　had　for　a　day's　rations　a　hunk　of　sour　dough；　no　more。　　Yucatan　is　low；　marshy；　damp；　hot。　　The　Yaquis　were　bred　on　the　high；　dry　Sonoran　plateau；　where　the　air　is　like　a　knife。　　They　dropped　dead　in　the　henequen　fields；　and　their　places　were　taken　by　more。　　You　see；　the　Mexicans　won't　kill　outright　in　their　war　of　extermination　of　the　Yaquis。　　They　get　use　out　of　them。　　It's　a　horrible　thing。。。。Well；　this　Yaqui　you　brought　in　escaped　from　his　captors；　got　aboard　ship；　and　eventually　reached　New　Orleans。　　Somehow　he　traveled　way　out　here。　　I　gave　him　a　bag　of　food；　and　he　went　off　with　a　Papago　Indian。　　He　was　a　sick　man　then。　　And　he　must　have　fallen　foul　of　some　Greasers。〃
  Gale　told　of　his　experience　at　Papago　Well。
  〃That　raider　who　tried　to　grind　the　Yaqui　under　a　horse's　hoofshe　was　a　hyena！〃　　concluded　Gale；　shuddering。　　〃I've　seen　some　blood　spilled　and　some　hard　sights；　but　that　inhuman　devil　took　my　nerve。　Why；　as　I　told　you；　Belding；　I　missed　a　shot　at　himnot　twenty　paces！〃
  〃Dick；　in　cases　like　that　the　sooner　you　clean　up　the　bunch　the　better；〃　said　Belding；　grimly。　　〃As　for　hard　sightswait　till　you've　seen　a　Yaqui　do　up　a　Mexican。
  Bar　none；　that　is　the　limit！　　It's　blood　lust；　a　racial　hate；　deep　as　life；　and　terrible。　　The　Spaniards　crushed　the　Aztecs　four　or　five　hundred　years　ago。　　That　hate　has　had　time　to　grow　as　deep　as　a　cactus　root。　　The　Yaquis　are　mountain　Aztecs。　　Personally；　I　think　they　are　noble　and　intelligent；　and　if　let　alone　would　be　pe