Dick had dressed himself in the half-Mexican finery he was wearing the first time Frank saw him. Those were the clothes in which Juan Delores delighted to see the lad attired.
Dick bade Felicia an affectionate adieu, promising to return within two days. At first she had feared he was going away for good, and the thought had nearly broken her heart; but she was relieved when Frank gave her his word that they would return.
That night they camped by a stream that came down from the mountains and flowed out through a broad valley, in which a great herd of cattle was grazing.
Old Joe had discovered “antelope sign” some hours before, and he set out to shoot one of the creatures. But Merriwell took a fancy to see what he could do, and, by skirting a ridge that kept him from view of the antelopes, he reached a point where he could obtain a good shot at them when they were alarmed by the Indian and took to flight.
Thus it happened, much to Dick’s amazement, that Frank brought in the antelope, while Old Joe returned empty-handed.
This seemed something like a marvel to the lad, but, if possible, Old Joe was even more astonished, and, although he tried to conceal it, he felt deeply chagrined over the outcome of the affair.
Joe, however, insisted on cooking the juicy steak cut from the slain antelope, and, though he felt that he could do it quite as well himself, Merry did not refuse the old fellow this privilege.
The smoke of their camp-fire rose in a blue column. Behind them rose the cottonwoods by the stream, and the majestic mountains towered close at hand. Soon the coffee-pot was simmering on some coals raked out from the fire, sending forth a delightful odor that gave every one a feeling of ravenous hunger.
Wrapped in his old red blanket, Crowfoot squatted by the fire and broiled the antelope steak, smoking his pipe.
No one observed that Dick had slipped away. They were talking of college days, and the conversation served to make them forgetful of their romantic surroundings.