The three Indian boys were doing their utmost to excite their ponies to their greatest speed up the height. As they sped on they glanced repeatedly backward, as if fearing pursuit. Higher and higher they came up the steep until we could not doubt it was their intention to reach the command.
"What does it mean? What does it mean?" exclaimed Frank. "Why are those Navajo boys running their horses in this direction? It can't be—"
"Never mind, Frank," I interrupted. "Let us get down to the men as soon as we can. The Indian women are already riding after the war-party."
At considerable risk to life and limb we slid down the ragged angle which we had ascended, and hurried to where Baldwin and the soldiers stood beside their saddled steeds.
We had barely reached the crest from which we could see the valley when the three whitewashed boys appeared on their panting and foaming animals, the little one on the buck-skin pony in the lead.
"What in the world is this?" exclaimed Baldwin. "Three whitewashed young redskins! What do they want of us?"
"Here we are!" shouted a familiar voice, in excellent English. "Here we are—Manuel, Sapoya, and I!"
Before we could sufficiently recover from our surprise, or, rather, calm our joyful realization of a hope born of the boys' start from the valley below, they were among us, and Henry had sprung from his horse and embraced his brother, leaving a generous coating of yeso upon the army blue. Tears of joy had ploughed two streaks through the whiting on his face, and lent a comical effect to the boyish countenance. A general handshake ensued, and Corporal Frank asked, "Where are your clothes, Henry?"
"Confiscated by the chief Elarnagan."
"Not to wear?"