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“Zane’s the name, Bob Zane. Came into this country at the request of a dying doctor, looking for a lost patient, Stella McRae... and, maybe, hoping to dig up a little metal for my pains.”

Their eyes flickered from face to face.

“I’m Stella McRae,” said the girl.

“Figured you’d have to be her, or else the nurse, Miss Marian. Who’s the man?”

She sighed.

“That’s Ned Craleigh.” Then, as if feeling more explanation was due me, added: “He was the man whom I hated. Now I love him.”

The man nodded. “Her father interceded to get her to marry me. She thought I’d bought him. She wanted to get money to square the account. She did it. I followed her. She wanted to buy me off, but she came to realize my affection was on the level.”

I let his words seep through my mind, trying to figure everything they meant.

“In other words, you’ve found the mine?”

It was the girl who answered.

“And how!” she said.

I looked her over. She was a dark kid with smoky eyes and red lips. There was a brazen way she had of looking at one. Her clothes were outing stuff, but class from top to bottom. She smiled into my eyes.

“Like my looks?” she asked.

I caught a glimpse of the man’s face. It was twisted into black hatred. Only for an instant did the expression flicker on his features, and then he was smiling again.

“Come on and I’ll show you what we’ve found,” he said.

I followed him. The girl came behind me.

There was a little spring, a stream, some piles of dirt that had evidently been washed, a gold pan. The man tugged at a flour sack, which was doubled back and sewed to reënforce it.

I caught a glimpse of yellow metal.

“Gold?” I asked.

“Gold,” he said, and his lips mouthed the word as though the very thought had started a flow of saliva.

I gave a swift look at the way the place had been worked — amateurish.

“There’s lots more here,” I said

The man nodded. “It goes down from the grass roots.”

“You haven’t any burros. I’ve got some pack stock cached a few miles from here. Maybe we can make a dicker. But we’ve got to get out now. We can’t stay here.”

He looked at the girl. She nodded.

I rubbered around some more. Somehow or other, things didn’t seem just right. Then I caught a glimpse of some clothes, woman’s clothes they were: silk undies, hiking stuff, boots, a jacket.

The girl followed the direction of my glance.

“Sloppy housekeeping,” she said, and moved over to the pile.

She tucked the silk out of sight, threw the other clothes over her arm. Something rolled from the pocket of the trousers, something that glittered. I picked it up. It was a compact.

“How about making a deal on the burro transportation?” I asked.

The man laughed.

“Don’t be foolish. We’ve got burros cached out ourselves. How’d you think we got in here?”

There was a rasping something in his tone I didn’t like. The girl’s hand was stretched out for the compact.

The cover was loose. I had a peep inside, and I saw it was an outfit for a blonde. This girl was a brunette. And I saw the print of a woman’s bare foot in the mud by the stream.

I jumped back.

The man’s hand streaked for his gun. It was the girl that got me, though. She went through the air in a flying tackle. By the time my rifle was halfway around she was clinging to my arm.

“Shoot him, Carl!” she screamed.

And I found the end of Carl’s gun boring into my eyes.

“Drop the rifle,” he ordered.

V

Desert Torture

I hesitated until I saw something in Carl’s eyes that glittered, and the girl’s teeth sank into my arm. Then I dropped the gun. The girl unbuckled my belt, and the six-gun and cartridges dropped to the ground.

“You’re a damn fool,” said the man.

I said nothing. I could only agree with him. The girl laughed, just the sort of a laugh I’d expect from her.

“We’ve got to beat it, Carl. Kill him.”

He shook his head.

“We’ll treat him the same way we did the girl. It’s a Yaqui trick. I’ve read of it. If any one finds him they’ll never believe but what the Indians did it.”

I knew then what he meant, and what they’d done with the girl who had found the mine.

The Yaquis have done it. They’ve done lots of things.

It’s simple. Simply strip the victim stark naked and turn him loose. There is lots of cactus in the country. There’s lots of blistering sunlight, and there are lots of sharp rocks. The ground gets so hot under that light that you can cook an egg by simply leaving it out in the sun for fifteen minutes. And civilized feet don’t go well over sharp rocks, not with a few hundred miles of travel over an arid country staring one in the face.

As a matter of fact, about all one would have to do in that country would be to take a man’s canteen away from him.

He’d have a hard time getting out. It’s sixty miles between water holes in places.

The girl prodded me in the ribs.

“Strip,” she said.

The man nodded and backed up his nod with a gesture of the weapon he held.

I had one chance of outwitting them. It was a poor chance, but I took it rather than jump at sure death from the gun. I stripped off my clothes. They left me nothing, not even a scrap of covering.

“March,” said the man, “and march up the cañon. I want to see you well over the top of the hill.”

I marched.

My feet struck the sharp rocks, and I lurched forward to lessen the pain. The girl laughed, a cruel, cutting laugh.

“Faster,” said the man. “We can’t wait here all day. We’ve got work to do.”

I made some progress. The sharp rocks cut my feet. Then I staggered out of the shadow into the blinding sunlight. It fastened on my skin at once, a blistering blanket. The rocks under my feet became burning coals. I tried standing on one foot for a while, then the other. It was no good. The torture on the one foot more than made up for the temporary relief the other got.

I knew that by standing in one place until I had drawn the heat out of the stones I could get some relief. But the man was yelling at me to get started, and there was a tone in his voice I didn’t like.

I went on as best I could. The tortured skin, hot and puffed, offered no resistance to the sharp edges of the rocks. The soles were cut in half a dozen places by the time I’d gained the top of the ridge.

I went over and looked for shelter, but I didn’t dare to stay too close — not with what I had in mind.

Finally, when I was satisfied they’d lost me, I ducked into some shade.

The punishment a mile of travel had inflicted on my feet had made them a mass of sores. The sun had burned into my skin, and the flies followed me in droves. It was simply plain hell.

Civilized man is pretty much a creature of environment.

But the man Carl had mentioned his burros. There was one place where he’d be almost certain to leave them. After half an hour’s rest I set about cutting branches with sharp rocks, stripping off the bark, and trying to tie the sticks onto my feet with it.

It was only a partial success. My feet were already swollen, bleeding, and hot dirt was ground into the cuts. There were blisters forming under the skin. Every step was like ten thousand hot knives working up into my agonized feet.

The bark wasn’t strong enough to hold the “sandals” together, and it wore through after a few steps, but I made progress, and I kept to the shadows. All the time I had the feeling that Yaqui eyes were watching me. It was not a comfortable feeling.

I thought of the girl who had preceded me — a blonde, with the skin of a blonde. I thought of what the sun would do to that skin.