A STRANGE MEETING
"There ain't no chance of our pony's bein' there," remarked Tender, thinking more of the grizzly than anything else. "They'll think we're tellin' a fish story about that bear."
"If it was my own pony," said Carlito, "I wouldn't be afraid to bet my best quiver that he'd still be there. This one I don't know."
Their homeward journey was somewhat different from the climb upward. The ground was soggy and wet with soaked leaves and mud, while water constantly dripped upon them as they passed under the trees. The sun, now setting just above the peak, gave a wan light through a half-mist, half-fog, which had arisen. They were still in rather high altitude, and the air was moist and cold. Creeping things, frightened into their holes by the storm, now ventured forth and skimmed across the ground frequently, disappearing again under the scraggy underbrush.
"Soon be time for the bats and owls," observed Dunk, as a surprised lizard hurried across their path.
Though they were all damp and chilled and anxious to regain their original camp, the boys kept up a cheerful conversation all the way.
"Funny you fellows didn't see that bird," said Fred.
"There wasn't no bird," twitted Jerry. "You just blinked your eyes when that flash came, and dreamt the rest."
"On the square though, fellows," seriously commented Herb, "Fred may be right, and that old tower may be the very place we're lookin' for."
"It's worth while thinking about," said Hawke. "We'll fly up there anyway, as soon as we get the aeroplane going."
"Seems to me that's too good to be true," reflected Fly. "I never thought, when I was readin' all that stuff about machines, that I was goin' to see a real one, and help build it myself."
His tone was so droll that some of the others laughed. "Give Fly a handkerchief," groaned Tender. "He wants to blubber, he does."
"Don't feel so bad about it, old boy," comforted Jerry. "Maybe the train with the stuff on it'll be wrecked, or Hawke'll change his mind, or we'll find out that it's been Greasers doin' the dirty work."
"Guess I'm kind of a howler," admitted Fly. "But watch me work when we get at that plane."
Just then Carlito picked up a long, thin snake, which had wiggled across the ground in front of him, and, swinging it around and around by its tail, sent it whizzing through space.
"Nothing but a garter snake," he explained, laughing, as Gray unconsciously ducked his head, and Fred gasped with astonishment. "I usually twist their heads off."
"Wonder you don't get your foot in it some time, Carl," declared Fred. "Ain't you afraid of nothin'?"
"No bad luck can happen to me," said Carl confidently, though with a smile. "See this?" He pulled out from under his wet shirt a string to which was fastened a large blue and white streaked stone bead.
"What's that?" asked several of the boys.
"A charm. Taken from the grave of one of my ancestors. There were just two in our tribe, and an old squaw gave it to me before I came to the Fort. Some one else in the family has the other one. She said it was the family charm and nothing could happen to me as long as I wore it."
Hawke smiled at this characteristic explanation, but the boys took it very seriously.
"Remember anything about your father, Carl?" asked the aviator, interested in the story nevertheless.
"They told me he was the bravest man in his tribe, and the swiftest runner. They wanted to make him chief, but his older brother, who was not so well liked, wanted to be made chief also and grew jealous of my father. One day a party of them went out on a hunt, and my father was separated from the bunch. They found him later in the forest, lying face downward with an arrow straight through him. Everybody thought my uncle did it. He went away soon after."
"What about the old squaw?" inquired Gray.
"Oh, she died just before I came here. She was over a hundred. I have her old pipe. She gave me a lot of things that were my father's—a fine quiver and his bow. I remember what she said when she gave it to me. 'Your father was a brave man and a great hunter,' she said. 'See that you do not disgrace him.' I have the arrow that killed him, and the blanket which my mother wove. They're in my room at the fort."
By this time the mist had lifted and the sun had gone down. They were walking in a narrow passage which almost amounted to a gorge. Huge jagged rocks jutted out here and there on either side, many of them squeezing between them some deserted cliff dwelling. Rugged brown shrubs clung stubbornly to the sides or grew sparsely on the surface wherever they could find soil. The whole scene was softened by the warm colors of the departing sunlight.
"Good-bye pony!" exclaimed Fred, when they reached the spot where they had left the animal.
"Nowhere in sight," added Fly.
"Call him, Carl," urged Herb.
The Indian gave a series of calls, but there was no response. The wind and rain had entirely annihilated any trace of the fire they had made for the pony's protection.
"Maybe he doesn't answer to a call," said Carl. "Or maybe I didn't have the right one. Just for fun I'll try an old one."
More in jest than in earnest he emitted a peculiar weird sound, based on several tones of the scale.
No answering whinny came. "I didn't think he'd know that anyway," said the boy. "I never heard it but once. An old chief taught it to me and said it used to be my father's call."
"Let's scour around a little," suggested Gray.
"All right. You stay here, and I'll see what I can find," replied Carl turning to the left. But he stopped short. In front of him stood a tall, stately, blanketed Indian. His whole face was hideously painted in various colors running in stripes backward from the nose, across his forehead and chin. His arms were folded, and his countenance was set and expressionless. A flashing pair of beadlike eyes, almost snaky, were fastened on Carl.
