THE COPPER COLORED MESSENGER
"Do you really mean it, Bob?" asked Frank, with the bewildered air of
one who suspects a joke.
"Take it yourself, and see," replied the other, holding out the
discolored and wrinkled sheet on which the writing was still plainly to
be read.
Frank bent over, the better to allow the firelight to fall upon the
queer document. This was what he read in a rather crabbed hand, though
the writing could be read fairly well:
_"To Whom it May Concern; Greeting!_
"This is to certify to the good character of the bearer, a Moqui Indian
by the name of Havasupai, who has rendered me a very great service,
which proves him to be the friend of the white man, and a believer in
the pursuit of science. I cheerfully recommend him to all who may be in
need of a trustworthy and capable guide to the Grand Canyon.
"PROFESSOR OSWALD."
Frank looked up to see the grinning face of his chum thrust close to
him.
"Think it's genuine, Frank?" demanded the other.
"I can see no reason why it shouldn't be," answered the other, glancing
down again at the crumpled paper he held, and which the old Moqui was
regarding with the greatest of pride on his brown face.
"Looks like that paper Mr. Hinchman brought to my dad; yes, I'd stake my
word on it, Bob, that the same hand wrote both."
"But how d'ye suppose this greasy old Indian ever got the document?"
asked the young Kentuckian.
"We'll have to put it up to him, and find out," came the reply. "He can
speak United States all right; we've found that out already; and so you
see, there's no reason under the sun why he shouldn't want to tell us."
He turned to the Moqui. It was not the same sleepy boy apparently who,
but a minute before, had started to creep into the comfortable tent,
where the blankets lay; but a wide-awake fellow, eager to ascertain
under what conditions this fugitive brave could have secured such a
letter of recommendation from the man of science, who was supposed to
have utterly vanished from the haunts of men without leaving a single
trace behind, up to the hour that message came to Colonel Haywood.
Holding the paper up, and shaking it slightly, Frank started to put the
Moqui warrior on the rack.
"This belong to you, Havasupai?" he demanded, trying to assume a stern
manner, such as he believed would affect the other more or less, and be
apt to bring out straight answers to his leading questions.
"The white boy has said," answered the other, for an Indian seldom
answers in a direct way.
"Where did you get it?" Frank continued, slowly, as if feeling his way;
for he did not wish to alarm the Indian, knowing how obstinate a Moqui
may prove if he once suspects that he is being coaxed into betraying
some secret or a friend.
The black, bead-like eyes were on the face of Frank as he put these
questions. Doubtless the old Moqui balanced every one well before
venturing a reply.
"He gave it," nodding in the direction of the paper Frank held.
"Do you mean the man who signed his name here, Professor Oswald?"
A nod of the head in the affirmative settled that question.
"Was he a small man with a bald head, no hair on top, and wearing
glasses over his eyes, big, staring glasses?"
Frank aided comprehension by touching the top of his own head when
speaking about the loss of hair on the part of the noted scientist; and
then made rings with his fingers and thumbs which he clapped to his eyes
as though looking through a pair of spectacles.
Evidently the Moqui understood. Reading signs was a part of his early
education. In fact it comprised nearly four-fifths of all the Indian
knew.
"White boy heap wise; he know that the man give Havasupai talking paper.
Much great man; know all. Tell Havasupai about cliff men. Find much good
cook pot, heap more stuff in cave. Find out how cave men live. Write all
down in book. Send Havasupai one, promise. It is well!"
"But where did you meet him?" asked Frank; and he saw at once that this
was getting very near the danger line, judging from the manner in which
the Moqui acted; for he seemed to draw back, just as the alarmed
tortoise will hide its head in its shell at the first sign of peril.
"In canyon where picture rocks laugh at sun," the Indian slowly said.
"That ought to stand for the Grand Canyon," remarked the boy.
The keen ears of the Moqui caught the words, although they were almost
spoken in whispers, and only intended for Bob.
He nodded violently, and Frank somehow found himself wondering whether,
after all, the shrewd Indian might not be wanting to deceive him. He may
have conceived the idea that these two white boys were the enemies of
the queer old professor; and for that reason would be careful how he
betrayed the man who trusted him.
"Listen, Moqui," said Frank, putting on a serious manner, so as to
impress the other; "we are the friends of the little-old-man who has no
hair on top of his head. We want to see him, talk with him! It means
much good to him. He will be glad if you help us find him. Do you
understand that?"
The Indian's black eyes roved from one to the other of those bright
young faces. Apparently he would be foolish to suspect even for a minute
that the two lads could have any evil design in their minds.
Still, the crafty look on his brown face grew more intense.
"He has some good reason for refusing to accommodate us, I'm afraid,"
Bob said just then, as if he too had read the signs of that set
countenance.
"Why don't you answer me, Moqui?" Frank insisted, bent on knowing the
worst. "We are on the way now to find the man who gave you this letter
that talks. We have some good news for him. And you can help us if you
will only tell in what part of the Grand Canyon Echo Cave lies."
The Indian seemed to ponder. Evidently his mind worked slowly, when it
tried to grapple with secrets. But one thing he knew, and this must be
some solemn promise he had made the man of science, never under any
conditions to betray his hiding-place to a living soul.
"No can say; in canyon where picture rocks lie; that all," he finally
declared, and Frank knew Indians well enough to feel sure that no
torture could be painful enough to induce Havasupai to betray one he
believed his friend, and whose magic talking paper he carried inside his
shirt, to prove his good character.
"That settles it, Bob, I'm afraid," he remarked to his chum, who had
been listening eagerly to all that was being said. "You might try all
sorts of terrible things and he wouldn't whisper a word, even if he
believed all we told him."
"That's tough," observed Bob; "but anyhow, we've got something out of it
all, because we know now that the silly old professor must be hiding in
one of those cliff caves, trying to read up the whole life history of
the queer people who dug their homes out of the solid rock, tier after
tier, away up the face of the cliffs."
"True for you, Bob, and I'm glad to see how you take it. I had hoped the
Moqui might make our job easier, as he could do, all right, if only he
wanted to tell us a few things. But we're no worse off than we were
before, in all things, and some better in a few."
"I wish I could talk Moqui," declared Bob; "and perhaps then I'd be able
to make the old fellow understand. Perhaps, Frank, if you gave him a
little note to Uncle Felix, he might promise to take it to him later
on!"
"Hello! that's a good idea, I declare," exclaimed Frank; "and I'll just
do that same while I think of it."
He immediately drew out a pad of paper, and a fountain pen which he
often carried for business purposes, since there were times when he had
to sign documents as a witness for his father.
The old Moqui watched him closely. Evidently the spider-like handwriting
was a deep mystery to him, and he must always feel a certain amount of
respect for any white person who could communicate with another by means
of the "talking paper."
"There," said Frank, presently, "that ought to do the business, I
reckon."
"What did you say?" asked his comrade, who was busy at the fire just
then, drawing some of the partly-burned wood aside, so that their supply
might hold out in the morning.
"Oh!" Frank went on, "I told him dad had his note, sent in that bottle.
Then I mentioned the important fact that the mine paper he carried had
increased in value thousands of dollars. And I wound up by telling him
how much we wanted to see and talk with him. I signed my name, and
yours, to the note."
"And now to see whether the Moqui will promise to carry it to your
great-uncle."
Frank held the note up.
"You will not tell us where we can find the little man without any hair
on his head, Havasupai," he said. "But surely you will not say no when I
ask you to carry this talking paper to him. It will please him very
much. He will shake your hand, and many times thank you. How?"
The cautious old Moqui seemed to be weighing chances in his suspicious
mind.
"Three to one he thinks we mean to spy on him, and find it all out that
way," was Bob's quick opinion.
"Just what was in my mind; I could read it in his sly old face. But all
the same he's going to consent, Bob."
The Kentucky boy wondered how Frank could tell this. He was even more
surprised when the Indian stretched out a hand for the note, as he said
solemnly:
"Havasupai will carry the talking paper to the man who has no hair on
his head. But no eye must see him do it. The white boys must say to
Havasupai that they will not try to follow him."
Frank looked at his chum, and nodded.
"We'll just have to do it, I guess, to satisfy the suspicious old fraud,
Bob," he remarked; and then raising his hand, while his chum did
likewise Frank went on, addressing the Moqui, who watched every action
with glittering black eyes: "We promise not to follow, Havasupai, and
will hope that this talking paper may cause the man-who-hides to send
you for us to take us to him. You understand all that I am saying, don't
you?"
The Moqui said something in his native language, which of course neither
of them comprehended. But at the same time he reached out his hand and
deliberately took the note intended for Uncle Felix.
"Hurrah! he's going to act as our messenger!" exclaimed Bob, filled with
anticipations of success. "Say, that was a pretty smart dodge on our
part, after all. But it makes me hold my breath every time I think of
our good luck in running across this chap the way we did. And Buckskin
deserves all the credit. He did it with his wonderful little tap."
"All right," said Frank; "me for the land of sleep now! Havasupai, you
can lie down where you will. In the morning we promise you a share of
our meat. How?"
"It is well, white boy," replied the old Moqui, as he dropped in a heap,
and evidently meant to sleep just as he was without any further
preparations.
Bob also crawled into the tent, although he had some misgivings, and
wondered whether his chum were really doing a wise thing to trust one
who had just confessed to a desire to raid their horses.
But as Bob, too, was tired and sleepy, he soon forgot all his suspicions
in slumber. When he awoke he could see the daylight peeping under the
canvas. Without disturbing his companion, Bob immediately started to
crawl out. He had suddenly remembered the old Moqui; and it seemed as
though his fears must have returned two-fold, and nothing would do but
that he must hasten to make sure all was well.
Frank was just opening his eyes a little while later when he saw Bob's
head thrust in at the opening of the tent.
"Better get up, Frank," the other said. "I've started the fire, and
after we've had breakfast we'll be on our way. It was just as you said,
though; he had the good sense to keep clear of the heels of the horses."
"Who are you talking about, the Moqui?" asked Frank, sitting up
suddenly, as he caught a peculiar strain in the other's voice.
"Yes, our friend, Havasupai; who vamoosed in the night!" laughed Bob.