“We’ll find out when we hear it again, as we shall do in a few minutes.”
“Do you think it is Mendez?”
“Yes, but it won’t do to bank on it until we get further data; it’s the favorite signal of his to announce his coming, but no doubt others of his people use a similar call. If it is he he will come right to this spot—ah, you are right!”
So it proved. The gentle whistle sounded again and this time there could be no mistaking its source; it was about half way between the rock and the rivulet or spring.
“Don’t forget that it may be some one else; if so, leave him to me,” said the officer, stealthily drawing his revolver; “I’ve been disappointed so many times to-day that I am entitled to this chance—there he is!”
The outlines of an Apache warrior silently assumed shape in the dim moonlight, and another “disappointment” fell to the lot of Lieutenant Decker, who returned his weapon to its place as he recognized Mendez, when he uttered a single word of greeting.
It takes a great deal to rouse the emotions of an American Indian, but if ever there was an amazed warrior it was this White Mountain Apache. He had visited the camp of Maroz and Ceballos and the discovery he made was one that fairly carried him off his feet, and which, when related to Maurice Freeman and Lieutenant Decker, held them dumfounded with astonishment.
[1] This incident is a fact.