“Go, my young brother! You are free of our village. You cannot leave it, for the entrance is well guarded. We shall wait until my old men have spoken.”
Honanta turned and stalked back to his lodge, leaving Sid free to wander at will. The youth at first regretted that he had not told the whole truth about his party, that he had neglected to mention the most important member of it—the dog, Ruler, who would surely track him here just as soon as Big John and Scotty started back to look for him. They would arrive at Red Mesa to-morrow morning, and, guard or no guard, Ruler would lead them to that cave mouth! There was no doubt of his own rescue. But it might mean a fight, might mean anything once Big John arrived on the scene! And for Scotty, with his acute mineralogical knowledge, to get one sight of Red Mesa would mean the end of the Yellow Bear clan’s peaceful days. There were two things for him to do now, Sid decided; to free Hano, and to escape himself—after which he could think out what further steps to take.
Left to himself, Sid strolled around the pond under the high walls of Red Mesa. He looked curiously at the small patches of maize, growing in clumps very much as the Hopi plant them; at the borders of beans and peppers; at squash plants that ran riot up the stone walls, growing out of small crevices of soil in the rock. Every inch of soil was being cultivated. As it was the dry season, great woolly clouds of lavender and rose, empty of rain, were flying across high over the red ramparts in the blue sky. A few squaws were irrigating the higher plants, carrying up large jugs of water from the pond.
A little further on he came to a deep gorge, cleft in the high rock, and Sid stopped, his heart beating swiftly. Here was the mine described on that Red Mesa plaque! It ran like a fissure through the granite, a wide seam of black lava trap, and with it was a vein of rich, dark ore. Pure copper smelted out by the heat of the lava glinted a dull black throughout the vein, and a still intenser black, gleaming with points of white, told of native silver nuggets mixed with the copper. It was a big lode. It swept downward, passed under the dirt path under Cid’s feet and descended into the dim blue depths of the tank. Here was Scotty’s mine, all right!
In it two Apache were working now, making arrow points at a primitive forge up in the shadows of the cleft, blowing a welding heat on a small pot fire with a bellows made of the skins and horns of the mountain sheep. They looked at Sid curiously and one grunted an exclamation in Apache at the other, but neither spoke to him.
Then there was a commotion in the village. A hunter’s song came deep and resonant, from the depths of the medicine lodge. Presently there emerged two stalwart bucks, bearing the carcass of the ram that Sid had seen shot before his eyes that morning. The three arrows that still stuck in his side identified him for Sid. In addition its body was now gayly decorated with prayer sticks and symbolic feathers signifying thankful remembrance to the Great Mystery who had given them this food. All the village turned out rejoicing at the hunters’ song. From the grass huts came squealing children, laughing girls, and lithe young men, all sunburned black as negroes which gave Sid the idea that most of them had been born here. The procession came shouting and rejoicing along the path bordering the pond and then all followed the ram’s carcass into a large lodge down near the open lower end of the valley where evidently the old men of the council were to make the appropriate prayer—“Spirit, partake!” the Indian grace—over the game before dividing it among the band.
Sid watched them depart. It seemed to him that a good time to act had now come. Honanta had not appeared. He was evidently in his lodge or else in a vapor bath hut near the pond preparing himself for his Sun Dance. One of the squaws had left her water jug standing by the brink of the tank, and it gave Sid the solution of a problem that had been troubling him for some time. He shouldered it and then walked swiftly toward the medicine lodge. There was no doubt now that the opening to the cave tunnel came out there, for out of it had just been brought the slain mountain sheep. He got to its door unperceived by any one and walked swiftly to the rear recess, his eyes rapidly accustoming themselves to the gloom within.
“Hano!—Shall I free you?” he asked in Apache, as he groped his way to where the young buck sat bound.
The Indian youth stared. If surprised at Sid’s speaking his own tongue, he gave no sign. Then he shook his head.
“No: I await my father’s judgment,” he replied proudly. “An Apache does not run away.”