The Mohaves had the camp-fire burning, and a number of birds, which resembled quails, cooking, while they had collected quite a quantity of mesquite beans, very numerous more south in California, and occasionally encountered further north. These furnished an abundant and nourishing breakfast, much needed by our friends.
Daylight brought another surprise in the shape of a third prisoner—a large, stalwart looking man, dressed in the garb of an Indian—in fact, no other personage than he who had guarded the lake and the Enchanted Island so zealously. He was sullen and obstinate, and his hands had been tied behind him for the purpose of security. He scowled at his fellow prisoners, as he was brought up, and undoubtedly hated them as thoroughly as he did his captors.
On the other hand, the Mohaves were particularly vindictive toward the man, and, from his appearance, had been subjecting him to suffering and torture for their own amusement. Only two held him, and they must certainly have secured him by strategy, as he was almost as muscular as Jim, and would have been an ugly customer in a hand-to-hand struggle.
“They’ve got quite a lot of us,” he remarked, addressing Inwood.
“Yes; dar am tree ob us.”
The stranger paid no heed to the negro, but spoke directly to Inwood.
“I s’pose you know what tribe these belong to?” he continued.
Edwin made answer that he did not.
“They are Mohaves—a villainous set of dogs. I consider ’em as bad as the Apaches, and you know they are as ugly as ugly can be.”