The old Moqui did not hesitate. Anyone who would promise that was his friend. Besides, he doubtless secretly hated and despised Mendoza, and would be glad to see him tricked.
“Tell me what to do, Frank; Havasupai knows your tongue is straight. He will trust you,” he answered.
“Here is my father,” the boy went on; “who owns the Circle Ranch stock farm. Come a little further into the bushes, where you can speak with him. We must be careful not to be heard by any of those in the camp.”
Upon that invitation the Indian folded his blanket calmly about him, and stalked in among the bushes. He did not know what sort of reception might await him; but he was a seasoned warrior, and could not flinch from danger. From the time he could pull a bow-string he had been accustomed to looking peril in the face, and smiling at its terrors. In his old age, then, it could not be expected that his nature would change.
For a long time he remained there, holding a conversation with Colonel Haywood and Scotty. Perhaps the leaders of the cowboys picked up more or less valuable information through this channel, for the Indian was willing to turn upon the man who had treated him so scurvily.
Bob had settled down to watching again when he saw a figure leave the shelter of the thicket, and head straight for the camp. Of course he knew that this was the old Moqui. No danger of Havasupai betraying their presence. That promise of the stockman in connection with finding his daughter for him would serve to hold him loyal, even if gratitude toward the two boys for what they had done before was lacking in his breast.
“What time do you think it can be, Frank?” asked Bob, when his chum once again cuddled down alongside him.
The prairie boy, through instinct, cast his eyes upwards. He was able to tell what Bob wanted to know by the position of the moon. Had that been lacking, then the low-lying star that trembled above the hill-top to the west would have given him the information he wanted. Nature holds a thousand secrets that become as an open book to those who have learned how to read her signs.
“About eleven by the watch,” Frank replied, readily, after that one glance up at the starry heavens.
“And do we have to keep this thing up till nearly dawn?” asked the other.