"Just what was in my mind; I could read it in his sly old face. But all the same he's going to consent, Bob."
The Kentucky boy wondered how Frank could tell this. He was even more surprised when the Indian stretched out a hand for the note, as he said solemnly:
"Havasupai will carry the talking paper to the man who has no hair on his head. But no eye must see him do it. The white boys must say to Havasupai that they will not try to follow him."
Frank looked at his chum, and nodded.
"We'll just have to do it, I guess, to satisfy the suspicious old fraud, Bob," he remarked; and then raising his hand, while his chum did likewise Frank went on, addressing the Moqui, who watched every action with glittering black eyes: "We promise not to follow, Havasupai, and will hope that this talking paper may cause the man-who-hides to send you for us to take us to him. You understand all that I am saying, don't you?"
The Moqui said something in his native language, which of course neither of them comprehended. But at the same time he reached out his hand and deliberately took the note intended for Uncle Felix.
"Hurrah! he's going to act as our messenger!" exclaimed Bob, filled with anticipations of success. "Say, that was a pretty smart dodge on our part, after all. But it makes me hold my breath every time I think of our good luck in running across this chap the way we did. And Buckskin deserves all the credit. He did it with his wonderful little tap."
"All right," said Frank; "me for the land of sleep now! Havasupai, you can lie down where you will. In the morning we promise you a share of our meat. How?"
"It is well, white boy," replied the old Moqui, as he dropped in a heap, and evidently meant to sleep just as he was without any further preparations.
Bob also crawled into the tent, although he had some misgivings, and wondered whether his chum were really doing a wise thing to trust one who had just confessed to a desire to raid their horses.