It was early dawn in Mystery Valley. Sunrise was beginning to gild the barren peaks of the Mogollons. The new day had come to its birth in a splendid glow, and the world smiled refreshed after the cooling sleep of the departed night.
Frank was just risen and not yet fully dressed, but about his waist was his cartridge-belt, and his pistol swung ready in the holster at his hip. He had no use for the weapon, however.
Outside the door stood old Joe Crowfoot, his blanket drawn about his shoulders. Those keen eyes gazed on Merry with an expression of friendly greeting.
With a shout of surprise and joy, Frank clasped the old redskin in his arms in the most affectionate manner.
"Old Joe Crowfoot, as I live!" he cried, showing unusual excitement and delight. "Why, you old reprobate, here you come popping back from the grave[Pg 243] after I've been mourning you as dead! What do you mean by it, you villain?"
"Ugh!" grunted old Joe, something like a merry twinkle in those beady eyes. "Strong Heart him think Crowfoot dead, eh?"
"Hang me if I didn't!"
"Crowfoot him heap tough; no die easy," declared the Indian.
"I should say not! Why, you tricky scoundrel, they told me you were done for."
"Who tell so?"