“I certainly do,” answered the other, as he swung around, and started his horse on an easy lope toward the on coming figure.
Already Bob saw that it was certainly the old Moqui. They had met Havasupai first of all up in the region of the Grand Canyon of the Colorado, as has been mentioned in an earlier volume of this series. And his actions in the Lost Valley had proven beyond all question that the Moqui wished to retain their friendship.
“Dad will be glad to see him,” Frank remarked, as they drew rapidly nearer the figure of the weary walker. “He said he meant to help the old man recover his child, if it was possible. And I heard him even asking several of those other stockmen if they knew anything about Antelope.”
“Oh! I hope he came across a clue, then,” Bob remarked; “because it must be hard on the old chap, being exiled from his village, and losing his only child.”
“Dad says that the old warrior can stay around Circle Ranch as long as he wants,” Frank went on to say; “he will always have his three meals
a day, and little to do. Perhaps he’s on his way there right now. He might happen to know something of what his son-in-law is meaning to do.”
Presently they drew up with a flourish alongside the old Moqui, who allowed a faint smile of welcome to creep over his wrinkled and bronzed face at sight of the two lads he had come to care for more than a little.
“How! Havasupai! what cheer?” cried Bob, reaching down to shake hands.
“We hope you’re on your way to the ranch, Chief,” Frank said, a little more seriously; “because my father, the Colonel, wants to see you, and tell you something about the one you are hunting. Will you take a seat here behind me, and ride?”
“It will be as well if Havasupai can meet the big chief soon,” replied the old Moqui, gravely, as he accepted Frank’s hand, and for a man of his years deftly climbed to the withers of the buckskin pony, that pranced about, as though not satisfied at the prospect of carrying double.