Argosy All-Story Weekly, May 5, 1928 — page 71: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

THE RED which he felt sure was kicked up by the horses stolen by the rustlers, who, so signs and tracks had told him, num- bered seven. The Chihuahua Fox _ probably thought that he had been clever in mak- ing false trails. He very likely would have deceived a white tracker, but not the nearly naked redskin, who, sitting easily in his saddle, sent Red Gold for- ward in rapid, ground-covering strides. Darkness would be no handicap, for there was no need of further trailing. Yuma Tom knew that Cannales and his men, with the stolen horses, would rest at Bonito Spring, a grass-fringed water hole at the base of a low hill on a desert flat. Bonito Spring was an oasis in the desert, known to but few. To the south, for nearly eighty miles, at this time of year, there was no water. To the west and east, also, for about the same distance, the country was arid. Midnight came, passed, and it was getting along toward daylight when Yuma Tom dismounted and, with Red Gold following close behind, entered the mouth of a sandy-bottomed dry wash, which ran crookedly across the flat. Down here, out of sight, he hoped to get close enough to the herd of horses to carry out the plan he had in mind. His moccasins made scarcely a sound, and the stallion’s unshod hoofs were equally noiseless as they went windingly forward. Yet as the little red man stepped around a sharp turn, a cold rifle muzzle was suddenly jabbed against his bare chest and Ramon Es- cudon snarled: “ Raise your hands!” Yuma Tom promptly obeyed. Ramon, a sharp-featured young Mexican of twenty-four, with known crimes enough against him to send him to jail for a long term, if he were cap- tured in the United States, leaned for- ward and peered into his captive’s face. “ Aha! Aha!” he chuckled gleefully in Spanish. “The Apache Fox has falleasinto the hands of his better, the MAN’S WAY. 637 Chihuahua Fox. He posted me here with the expectation that the gringo sheriff would call for help on his old tracker amigo. Great will be the pleas- ure of my capitan when he sees you. So I will now take your weapons and march you to him.” Yuma Tom’s only sign that he had heard was a half audible grunt. He had deliberately taken a chance in ap- proaching the horse thieves’ camp through the dry wash, and now stood ready to face the consequences. Through the darkness, as ahead of his captor Yuma Tom neared Bonito Spring, he made out the dim forms of a number of horses. Some were stand- ing near the water. Others were brows- ing on the scanty pasture. Still others were lying down. Glancing back over his shoulder, he saw that Ramon was leading Red Gold. He spoke to the Mexican in Span- ish: ““ My mount is thirsty. When we reach the water hole, you will take off his bridle so that he can drink ?”’ “Tll do more than that,’ Ramon laughed, raising his voice to warn the guard at the spring he was approach- ing. “I will take off his saddle, too. For now your wonderful stallion is an- other of our herd. Our fox capitan will be much pleased.”’ A sharp voice came out of the dark- ness: “‘ Who its it?” “It is I, Ramon. And I have with me an important captive.” The horses moved aside to make room for Yuma Tom and his captor ta walk on. It was pretty dark. Yet Yuma Tom could distinguish the cir- cular outlines of the water hole, nearly a hundred feet across, and five dim fig- ures standing close to Bonito Spring, at the base of the low hill. Suddenly a raucous “ Haw he-e-e-e! Haw he-e-e-e!”” burst out, a few yards distant. In return Red Gold nickered softly. Yuma Tom indistinctly made out the dark gray mule, Annaliza, picketed at the edge of the water hole. EOPMIE MOO KS (E©)