CHAPTER XI
JUST BEFORE THE MOON SET
Bob knew that his chum had been wriggling past him for some little time, and he guessed that Frank wanted to communicate with his father. Now the Kentucky lad could hear them whispering in the lowest possible tones.
He wondered that the old Moqui, squatted so close by, did not catch sounds that might arouse his suspicions; but on looking again Bob saw that he still sat there on the rock, his Navajo blanket drawn about his head, the picture of woe, as though the whole world had turned against him.
It might be the ears of Havasupai were getting old, and he did not hear as keenly as could a young warrior. Or possibly he was so wrapped up in his bitter reflections that he gave small heed to anything that was passing. Then again it would be easy to mistake the whispering of Frank and his father for the twittering of the birds disturbed on their roosts.
Just why Frank wanted to confer with his father Bob of course was unable to understand.
He found himself wondering whether the unexpected presence of this old friend might not have something to do with his move. Frank was quick to see an advantage, and use it, when he believed it would serve his purpose.
And as Bob still lay there in his rather uncomfortable attitude, waiting for something to happen whereby the conditions might be changed, he heard a low, cautious voice, which he recognized as that of his chum, softly calling:
“Havasupai!”
The gay blanket moved, and the head of the old Moqui came into view.
“Who calls the Lonely One?” he asked, in steady tones, as though not quite sure whether he were dreaming, or hearing the voice of Manitou.