Carl stopped short. In front of him stood a tall, stately, blanketed Indian. His whole face was hideously painted in various colors, and his countenance was set and expressionless.
"Whilligers, where'd he come from!" whispered Fred, as the boys stood perplexed and amazed at this apparition. Nobody had heard him approach, or seen him, until they discovered him standing like a carved statue, coolly regarding Carl.
"Hello, what do you want?" chirruped Carl, cheerfully, not at all abashed.
The older Indian drew himself straighter, if possible, and replied in his own tongue, which Carl afterwards said was original Apache.
"Where did you learn that call?" demanded the tall stranger, almost fiercely.
"It belonged to my tepee," responded the boy.
"You Apache?"
"Yes."
"Umph," grunted the Indian, and stood silently, with his penetrating eyes fixed on Carl.
"You are no true Apache," he said finally. "You wear the clothes of the palefaces, and live with them. You hunt with them. You care nothing for the trials and sufferings of your fathers—the big chiefs in the land of the happy hunting ground."
Carl said nothing, but watched his critic curiously. He had unconsciously drawn himself up to his full height, and, though slighter, his form matched in symmetry, grace and stateliness that of the older man.
"I bring back to my people the religion of their fathers," continued the stranger. And he threw open his blanket. Carl and the others started, almost with horror. The broad, brown chest was entirely tattooed in flaming vermilion with the design of a huge and ferocious form of an eagle.
"I go to look for the Thunder Bird and his shrine," said the Indian, wrapping himself again, and pointing majestically upward. "My people shall worship him again, and thus shall I gain favor with the Great Spirit whom I have displeased."
He turned and started off in the direction from which the boys had come.
Suddenly he stopped short and turned back. "Where is your tepee?" he demanded of Carl.
"At the fort."
"The tepee where you learn the call?" impatiently reiterated the questioner.
"In the far-away country," answered the Indian boy. "I do not remember now. I was taken away when a child."
The older Indian looked at him steadily, as though he would penetrate the boy's soul and read the history of his life. Then he grunted and went on.
"Well, I never saw him before," was Carl's first remark, as the retreating figure disappeared around a bend. Then he translated to the boys the queer conversation.
"And he's looking for the Thunder Bird," repeated Hawke. "That does seem odd, doesn't it?"
"He went in the direction of the tower, too," put in Fred, glad to have his contention strengthened by this occurrence.
"Acts to me as though he'd sort of lost his mind," went on Carl. "Some of the Indians get to thinking about their wrongs until they go bugs."
"Better lookin' than any of the old Indians around here," remarked Dunk, thinking of wizened and wrinkled old Tommy.
"Funny he knew that old call," reflected Carl. "Wonder where he came from anyhow?"
"Well, I suppose he'll turn up again, if he's wandering around here long," commented Jerry. "Looks kind of savage."
"Anyhow, that's not findin' our pony," reminded Fly, and Carl started off to explore the near-by timber.
"Or gettin' home and gettin' warm," added Herb, registering the first complaint.
"If Fly don't dry his hair it'll get rustier," chimed in Jerry.
"Might as well go back," advised Carl, returning from a short, unsuccessful search. "No use of us standing around here shivering. Maybe our friend the big chief took him along."
"Perhaps he thought he was white man's property and would take him for some of the debts we owe the race," suggested Herb. "But I don't care for nothin' but the grizzly."
Two hours later, when they reached the fort, dirty, tired, muddy and damp, they found, to their great surprise, lying on the captain's front porch, stretched out at full length, the dead bear.
"Hello, fellows," shouted Captain Crawford, coming out of the house. "We were getting worried about you. Glad you showed up. The pony came back, and I see you got acquainted with a grizzly."
The ladies appeared in the doorway, while Jerry's father went over and gave the bear a push with his foot.
"That's a beaut," he exclaimed. "Who bagged him?"
"Hawke," came the instant response.
"We all did," corrected the aviator. "And we had a great time doin' it."
"Gee, we've had a corker of a day," exclaimed Jerry. "Lots of things happened."
"Get inside here now," ordered the captain, and the ladies quickly approved this advice. "Take off your wet duds. Jerry, give the boys some clean things."
"Guess we'll go home," said Fly, speaking for Carl and Dunk. "Say," he added, anxious to break the news, "we think we've found the Thunder Bird nest."
"You better get under cover before you catch the rheumatics," laughed the captain.
It was nearly dusk now, and the white moon had appeared in the east, floating gently over restless, shifting clouds, but the evening was as serene and clear as if it had succeeded a calm, uneventful day.
After putting on an outfit of dry clothes, Herb and Tender started for the ranch, where they found Mr. Phipps waiting for them, and Hop on hand to take care of their wants. After some warm broth they sat up late into the night relating the day's events to the interested rancher.
As for Carl, he sat up for an hour studying as was his custom, then lay awake for some time staring thoughtfully into the darkness of his little room, which was a small one over Fly's machine shops.
"Wonder who that Indian was," he pondered. "A real Apache, and he knew that old call. Lookin' for the Thunder Bird. What if he had known my folks?" But soon his thoughts trailed off into dreamland, and he slept as only active boys can, until another day of promise dawned. For every sunrise in the life of a boy foretells a day of events.