Before he had finished lunch the girls arrived.
"Where's your bosom friend today?" they asked mockingly. "You and Kie Wicks are almost inseparable. It's quite touching to see such devotion," laughed Bet, who knew of the old man's impatience.
Bet laughed and the contagion of her merriment started the other girls and their voices echoed back to them from the canyon wall opposite.
While they stood there, a strange procession appeared around the bend in the trail. A band of horses one after the other, filed by.
"Poor horses!" exclaimed Bet in sympathy.
"Horses!" sneered Kit. "Those are not horses, they are just racks of bones, that's all. And that's the way most of the Indian ponies look."
The professor was speechless. He watched the procession with interest. Fat squaws rode huddled over their nags, each carrying a baby strapped to her back. Small boys ran beside the horses or clung on behind the mother. The men usually rode free and on one of the animals, the professor saw an old Indian.
"I wish I could talk to him," he whispered to Kit, who was standing near him.
"You'll have your chance before the day is over. They usually camp right here where you are. I'm surprised that Indian Joe suggested this spot. They are not apt to go far away from here."
As Kit spoke the squaw heading the procession stopped, and it looked as if she rolled off her horse as she dismounted. She had evidently found a suitable place to camp. The professor was delighted that it was on the opposite side of the stream where he could watch them. A tepee was made almost before the squaws were all out of their saddles. A large piece of sacking was thrown over small bushes which were tied together at the top to form an arch. This was the only shelter put up by the Indians when on the march.