“Hole in mountain. Joe show. Joe show other things.”
The Indian did. He led the Overton girl into dark recesses in the wall of the tunnel, where, by the light of her lamp, she saw plunder that made her eyes widen. It was mostly small merchandise, but valuable. There were gold and silver articles and some precious stones, but not many, that Grace, in her hasty examination, thought were of considerable value.
In another cache there were silks, carefully wrapped, and a regular arsenal of rifles, revolvers and ammunition, all probably stolen. Grace Harlowe’s eyes glowed.
“Were those men here last night—I mean did they shoot from out there?” pointing to the mouth of the cave of the Cliff Dwellers.
“Yes, shoot at white girls’ camp.”
“I thought so. When I saw the flashes from their rifles, and this morning looked at this place with my glasses, I made up my mind that the shots had been fired from here. Joe, we must catch these men, every one of them. Do you think you can get back to your people without being seen, provided any of the bandits should still be about your camp?”
“Joe get back.”
“Very good. Go back to your camp on the mountain side and send a trustworthy Indian to get the sheriff. I will send a letter by you to the clerk at the Lodge, and he can telephone for the sheriff. When the sheriff and his party are found, have them led here, but do not try to get here until dark. Do the bandits keep a guard on the outside of this place at night?”
“Joe not know.”
The Indian was trotting ahead, Grace lighting the way with her lamp. She observed that the instinct of the Indian enabled him to follow the outward trail with as little difficulty as if he had been over it many times.