The cactus leaf came back to Colonel Evans, and once more he studied every dent and scratch upon it. The writing looked as if it had been done with the point of a knife. There could be no doubt but what it was Cal's work.
"You'll see him again," said Captain Moore, encouragingly.
"It'll be about the time that Kah-go-mish sees his own children, I reckon," replied the colonel. "They're a sort of security, but something might happen to him in spite of their being here."
"Indians are uncertain; that's a fact," said the captain, "but you must keep up your spirits. Do you believe in Providence, colonel? I do."
"Do I?" said Cal's father. "Of course I do. Why?"
"Well, isn't it curious that Cal hasn't been hurt, through all this, up to the time when he wrote that letter? Wasn't he taken care of?" asked the captain.
"He got lost in the chaparral, didn't he? Isn't he a prisoner now?"
"They found him, and it may be a good thing that they did. Hold on a bit. Anyhow we'll keep a tight grip on those two young redskins."
"Ping," said the colonel. "That's a queer name for an Indian boy. Tah-nu-nu isn't so bad for a young squaw. We'll camp here to-night?"
"Of course," said the captain, "but we'll make an early start in the morning, and go back close along the boundary line. There's good grass beyond the desert; wouldn't mind forgetting the line for a few miles if we came near enough to any Apaches. Sorry I didn't get another talk with the chief's messenger. It beats me how he slipped away."