Ralph was watching as he talked.
The man below had started to move again and was climbing the ascent to the mesa. It chanced that the trail was not far from the spot where the two Camp Fire girls and their companions were standing.
When the Indian reached the top he hesitated a moment, perhaps surprised by the unexpectedness of seeing two strange young men. But, without making any sign, he went on in the direction of the group of tents.
Not far from her own tent Mrs. Burton was sitting in a big camp chair, with Dawapa on the ground beside her. The Indian girl had been frightened by the appearance of so many strangers.
Standing in front of Mrs. Burton was a big, good-looking fellow named Howard Brent, the son of another Arizona ranchman, with whom she was talking.
The Indian stopped in front of them, but Polly did not notice until she heard a little suppressed cry from the girl beside her.
Mrs. Burton was not altogether pleased at the sight of the young man.
After all, he had too mysterious a fashion of appearing at camp unexpectedly.
But something in the dignity and aloofness of his manner always impressed her.
“I am sorry,” he said. “I did not know you had friends with you or I would not have come. They must have told you to be prepared before now.”