Toma, ever on the alert, was the first to take the queer missile from the packer’s trembling grasp.
“Look!” he said, holding it up. “An arrow!”
An arrow it was—a yellow arrow with a long shaft and a sharp head. Dick and Sandy regarded it for a moment in blank amazement. Then both of the boys jumped as a sudden, deafening report rang out.
Toma had fired his rifle. It lay now in the crook of his arm, and Toma himself, one hand shading his eyes, scanned the rugged cliffs on the opposite side of the ravine.
“Did you see something?” Dick quavered.
“Me not sure,” Toma spoke calmly. “One time I thought see something move. Mebbe only sun shining on rocks. Anyway,” he paused, smiling a little, “him fellow shoot arrow be frightened now at big noise an’ run away, I think.”
“I hope so,” said Dick, endeavoring to control the tremor in his voice and trying to appear unconcerned.
Sandy’s face was pale but he said nothing as he walked over to the supply packs and commenced to haul them out in preparation for supper.
On the following morning, when Dick awoke, there was no sign, no indication anywhere of their mysterious enemy of the night before. In the bright presence of a new day, it seemed scarcely possible that the thing really could have happened. The fear and dread he had experienced before retiring for the night, was gone. The bright rays of the sun were friendly and reassuring. There was something peaceful and comforting in the sight of the green strip of grass growing there in the ravine, and in the sound of the water tumbling down from the rocks.
Lighted-heartedly, he threw back his blankets and jumped up, only to meet the troubled gaze of Toma, who sat, fully dressed, a few feet away, his rifle in his lap.