“Sounds as if the person, whoever he may be, were a stranger to the place,” whispered Jean.
“Why shouldn’t he be? Place hasn’t been visited for hundreds of years. Look at the dust.”
“But he followed us.”
“Yes. I wonder why.”
For a long time after that they waited in breathless silence. All the time the person, who now halted, now moved a few steps forward, was coming closer and closer. Who could it be? What did he want? Did he know the secrets of this mysterious place, of the magic door? He might. There was hope in that.
“Oh, switch on your light,” Jean whispered impatiently. “What’s the use? He’s bound to find us in the end.”
Realizing the truth of this, Roderick snapped on his light and sent its rays gleaming straight down the corridor. As it fell full upon the face of the one who had followed them there came a half-suppressed, shrill cry of a child. It was none other than the daughter of the great chief, the one whose life Johnny had saved.
“Wianda!” exclaimed Jean, calling the girl’s name as she started forward to embrace her.
Unfortunately, this name was the only word they had in common.
For a moment the Indian girl’s eyes roamed from one to the other, then with a sudden gesture she held up first three fingers, then only two, as much as to say: