There were rebels below him--very likely there were more to come--the only safe place for Copper Bottom was over the hills at Fortuna. Without stopping for path or trail he headed straight north-west over the ridges, riding as the cowboys do when they rake the range for cattle. Hardly had he topped the first high crest when he came in sight of Amigo, loaded down with his cartridge-belts and carrying his heavy Mauser. In a long, shambling trot the Yaqui was drifting along the hillside with the free grace of a wild creature, and when Hooker pulled down his horse to keep pace with him he laughed and motioned him on. Taking the lead, he loped on over hogback and _barranca_, picking out the best trail by instinct and setting such a pace that Bud was hard-pressed to keep up with him. He had heard it said that in the Yaqui country no white man, no matter how well he was mounted, could outdistance the Indians on foot, and now he knew it was true. But why this killing haste on the part of Amigo? He had neither friends nor kin in town; why, then, should he run so fast to warn them of the enemy? They racked on, up one hill and down another, while the _insurrectos_ followed the cañon that swung to the south, and finally, in a last scramble, they mounted a rocky ridge and looked down upon Old Fortuna. Already the hard-driven peons were out in the fields at work and smoke was rising from the _mescal_ still. Aragon was busy, but his labors would be worse than wasted if the red-flaggers took him prisoner. As Bud breathed his horse he hesitated whether to ride back and warn him or press on and notify Fortuna; but even for that brief spell the Yaqui could not wait. "_Adios_," he said, coming close and holding out his black hand; "I go this way!" And he pointed along the ridge. "But why?" said Bud, still at a loss to account for his haste. Then, seeing the reticence in the Indian's eyes, he thrust out his hand in return. "_Adios, amigo mio!_" he replied, and with a quick grip the Yaqui was gone. With that same deceptive speed he shambled through the bushes, still lugging the heavy rifle and making for higher ground. Bud knew he had some purpose--he even had a sneaking idea that it was to take pot-shots at Captain del Rey--but six months in Mexico had made him careless, and he half hoped the Yaqui would win. The _capitan_ had it coming to him for his brutality, but with Aragon it was different--Aragon had a wife and daughter--and, with the memory of Gracia in his mind, Bud sent his horse plunging down the ridge to warn them before it was too late. There were some brush fences to be jumped, but Copper Bottom took them flying, and as they cut into the river trail he made the mud-puddles splash. Across the fields to the south Bud could see the peons running for cover--the _insurrectos_ must be in sight beyond the hills.