The leading figure had reached a point close to the clump of small trees from which the sound of running water proceeded. Bob had seen the
Mexican look back, several times, as though he knew the other was following him; but he manifested no sign of fear.
Entering among the trees he was gone for a couple of minutes, during which time he undoubtedly quenched his thirst. Meanwhile the Indian drew near. He did not attempt to enter the copse, but waited for the Mexican to come into view again. It might have been dangerous for anyone to follow Pedro Mendoza into the shadows, for he was suspicious of all men and their intentions.
When Mendoza, if the Mexican were really that person, came forth once more, he found the old Indian waiting for him.
“Well, what do you want with me, Havasupai?” he asked, in an irritated tone, as though the interview did not promise to give him any too much pleasure.
Bob was surprised to hear him speak such good English, for most of the Mexicans whom he had met thus far had a sort of patois of their own, in which Spanish words and phrases were mixed with American.
But then he had felt the same way when he heard the Moqui Indian talk, until he remembered that for years Havasupai had come in contact with tourists, and in one way or another picked up considerable information, as well as the speech of the whites.
“Many moons ago the White Wolf came and took the daughter of Havasupai away from the lodges of her people,” the Moqui began; “but Antelope went willingly, because she would be the squaw of the white man. Now Havasupai is sent away to live or die like a dog, because he has broken the laws of the Moquis, and he would see again the face of his child before he passes to the land of the Manitou.”
“So, that’s the reason you hunted me up, was it, old man?” said the Mexican, with a short, ugly laugh. “When you told me what had happened to make you an exile I thought at first you only wanted shelter and food. Your daughter is far from here, down in my country. And as I don’t care to have you meddling around, I refuse to tell you where she can be found. Go back to your people; or jump into the sacred river, for all of me; but see Antelope again you never will! Get out of my way!”
Bob thought at first the old chief was about to throw himself on the insulting Mexican. Whatever was in the mind of the Moqui exile, he seemed to hold himself in check. The Mexican walked on back to the camp, never dreaming what lay in those shadows close by; while the Indian, wandering still closer to where the Circle Ranch cowboys lay, sat down on a rock as though to meditate upon his gloomy outlook.