"Now we are there," said Francisco, at length, pausing under the shade of a magnificent oak tree.
"Isn't it lovely!" cried Nellie, springing from the wagon.
To the left, from a granite boulder, a living stream of water was trickling, forming a miniature pool. Francisco, with great dexterity, steered his wagon beneath the stream in such a position that the water would flow into the upright barrel.
"Let us go now a little while the water is filling, and look about," he said to the children. "It is very pretty here." And so it was.
They climbed up the bank, pushing the fragrant bushes aside, and came suddenly upon a broad plateau of many acres, dotted at intervals with splendid forest trees. In the distance the rugged, blue mountains stretched along the horizon. All was radiant, still, and incomparably lovely.
The children ran about for a time, then seated themselves under one of the massive trees. Presently they heard a crashing noise in the bushes, and a red head appeared. In a moment they saw that it belonged to a boy about Walter's age, a most ungainly and unattractive-looking person. His eyes were small and close together, his teeth uneven and protruding.
"Hello!" he cried as he saw Walter and Nellie; then, catching sight of Francisco, he made a horrible face.
The Indian boy looked at him calmly, but said nothing.
"Hello!" he repeated, throwing himself on the ground beside Walter.