“I shall stick to it till I find the cabin of Delores, if it takes a year!” exclaimed Frank grimly.
Bart knew he would do exactly as he said.
“Perhaps we may be disappointed when we do find it.”
“At least, I should be able to learn if my father is dead, and where he is buried.”
“But the message——”
“I have hopes that I may learn the secret of that, also. It may be that he did not trust it alone to that one document.”
“It’s getting late. What are we to do now? Shall we explore this valley to-night, or wait till morning?”
Little of the valley could be seen through the narrow pass, and that little seemed to promise that it led onward far into the hills. After a moment Frank answered:
“We’ll ride forward and see if we can get a look into it.”
He started onward, and Bart followed, but they had proceeded only a short distance when they were startled to see, sitting on a boulder at one side of the pass, a strange figure. At first it was hard to make out whether it was man or woman, but, as they drew nearer, it straightened up and revealed, peering from the folds of a dirty red blanket, the wrinkled and gnarled face of an old Indian. A pair of beady black eyes were steadily regarding the two young men.