“Here’s the way they went!” she exclaimed. “We’re on the right track at last.”
“I believe you’re right, because it seems to be winding up toward that smoke,” Florence agreed.
Just as she had finished speaking the moaning sounded again, more clearly than ever.
“Let’s hurry!” cried Jo Ann.
After starting up the faintly marked path, the girls were able to make much better time. Without wasting a moment in conversation they hurried on as fast as they could go. A few minutes later at a turn in the path they came in sight of a crude shelter of boughs thrown up in a hurried fashion against the steep face of rock.
Simultaneously the piteous wailing of several voices burst upon their ears with such heart-rending sadness that involuntarily both girls were filled with sympathy.
The next moment, through an open space in the shelter, Jo Ann saw the white-clad figure of a boy stretched out on the floor. Huddled around him were two women and several little girls, their heads bowed and their faces almost concealed by their black rebosas.
Catching Florence by the hand, Jo Ann quickly led her to the entrance of the shack. As they stepped inside, the mourners raised startled eyes.
Immediately the two girls recognized the two women as the mother and grandmother they had seen in the cave. Swiftly then Jo Ann’s eyes flew to the still, white-clad figure lying on a mat on the ground.
“He’s dead!” flashed through her mind as she dropped on her knees and placed a comforting hand on the mother’s shoulder.