“Malo,” he said, and his Spanish was clear. “Shore Yaqui, about eight bad men, an’ a traitor Indian,” said Ladd. “I think he means my herder,” added Belding. “If he does, that settles any doubt it might be decent to have—Yaqui—malo Papago—Sí?” The Yaqui spread wide his hands. Then he bent over the tracks in the road. They led everywhither, but gradually he worked out of the thick net to take the trail that the cowboys had followed down to the river. Belding and the rangers kept close at his heels. Occasionally Dick lent a helping hand to the still feeble Indian. He found a trampled spot where the raiders had left their horses. From this point a deeply defined narrow trail led across the dry riverbed. Belding asked the Yaqui where the raiders would head for in the Sonora Desert. For answer the Indian followed the trail across the stream of sand, through willows and mesquite, up to the level of rock and cactus. At this point he halted. A sand-filled, almost obliterated trail led off to the left, and evidently went round to the east of No Name Mountains.
