Chapter XXXIII.
LEAVING THE BAD-MEDICINE CAMP.
The camp in the chaparral at Cold Spring was astir before daylight that next morning. Every soul seemed to want a look at the Manitou Water, as well as a drink of it, immediately upon waking. Tongue after tongue declared, in English, Spanish, or Apache: "Just as it was before, only it runs a little stronger." That is, the avalanche had raised the level of the water in the mountain reservoir and the pressure was greater. Every season must have witnessed very much the same changes in the conduct of Cold Spring, but, as a rule, without any human eyes to take note of them. The sage-hens, the jackass rabbits and the antelopes had kept no record.
Cal's father was a sad-hearted man when he mounted his big black horse. He was turning his face homeward without Cal, and he almost forgot that he had come in search of stolen horses.
Ping and Tah-nu-nu were given their own ponies, and were as ready for a start as was anybody else. As they reached the path-opening by which they were to go away, they turned and took a long look at the Manitou Water. It flowed on steadily, without a jump of any sort.
"Ugh!" said Ping. "Manitou sleep."
Colonel Evans and his cowboys, Captain Moore and his cavalry, all did the same thing, but not one of them made the same remark. The three remaining Chiricahua scouts also looked, and the old brave who had told stories to Ping and Tah-nu-nu shook his head, saying something about Kah-go-mish and bad medicine. He was thinking of the fourth Chiricahua who had been the first man of that expedition to drink of the bubbling snow-water.
"Have you any idea when or where we shall get our next news of Cal?" asked Captain Moore, as he rode along at the head of his column.