But the elder was no more successful than the younger. The latter turned to Mendez, upon whose face were the faint indications of a smile, and asked:
“What was it you saw?”
“One—two—tree ’Pache crawl up ridge—look ober—see dere eyes!”
It seemed incredible that the scout should have been able to detect this fact—if it was a fact—at that distance, and yet we have the record that Tycho Brahe, hundreds of years ago, did as well in the same line and his visual powers could not have received finer training than those of this White Mountain Apache.
“That won’t do,” remarked the lieutenant, smilingly shaking his head; “I had the record at the Point of being able to see a professor further than any of the cadets, but I wasn’t equal to that.”
“By heavens! he’s right!” exclaimed Freeman, who was still holding the instrument pointed toward the ridge; “he doesn’t need a spyglass.”
“When you are through, let me try it again.”
Freeman handed the glass to the lieutenant, who, being shown the exact point toward which to direct it, did so with much doubt and misgiving as to the result.
“Just as I supposed!” he muttered impatiently; “all imagination——”
When he first used the instrument he saw nothing besides the bare, sandy elevation, but the words were yet in his mouth, when, on the very crest of the ridge, something resembling a crow came into sight. His first thought was that one of those birds or a buzzard had hopped up from the other side, and was peering over, but a moment’s scrutiny left no doubt that it was the head of an Apache Indian, for it could belong to no other tribe and act in this manner, the circumstances being as they were.