Weston’s shout had died to a note of alarm.
“You ain’t kiddin’ me, Colonel? I’m sober.”
“Be sure you are in the same condition to-morrow morning at seven o’clock, Sink,” exclaimed Mr. Cook. “Roy’s put off his return a day or so. He’s goin’ to give you a little ride in the Parowan. And remember our bargain.”
[CHAPTER XVIII]
THE LAST OF THE LOST INDIANS
From the day he entered southwestern Colorado, Roy had heard the tales of the ancient Indian Cliff Dwellers. Mr. Cook had often explained to him the history of this disappeared race. Whence they came, he told Roy, ethnologists could not say.
“Some,” he had explained, “believe the Cliff Dwellers drifted from Mexico—that they are the last of the Aztecs, the most highly cultured of all red men. Others have urged that they may as well have come from the north—even from Asia and its ancient civilization.”
“Mr. Cook,” exclaimed Roy suddenly that evening, after Weston had finally withdrawn to prepare for the trip he had anticipated for years, “you have told me that the old Cliff Dwellers may have come down the coast from Asia by way of Bering Sea.”
“That’s one theory. Students have found shell remains and ivory knives up in Yakima Valley, Washington. They look like Eskimo articles.”