A SURPRISE
When half an hour had passed, both boys began to grow a little anxious.
They knew that, undoubtedly, those in charge of the expedition must have
been holding a council of war, and deciding on the course to be carried
out.
“Wait here for me, Bob,” Frank whispered.
“Where are you going?” asked the other, suspiciously; for he wanted to
be in any move, as well as did his chum.
“Just to see dad, and find out what’s doing. I’ll sure be back again
right away,” Frank told him.
“All right. You’ll find me here, lying like a log,” grunted Bob. “Fact
is, if this keeps on, I’ll just turn into one, I’m getting that stiff in
the legs.”
Frank crept away softly, and the Kentucky boy continued to stretch out
in the dense shadows, listening to the sounds that came from the camp
not very far away. A soft murmuring sound told Bob that he was near some
spring, possibly that which supplied the drinking water for the camp;
and in running down the side of the valley it evidently also satisfied
the thirst of the cattle in the corral near by.
In not more than ten minutes, though perhaps it seemed much longer than
that to Bob, his chum crawled alongside again.
“How?” queried Bob, Indian fashion.
“Oh! they’ve got it all arranged,” Frank answered, between gasps; for he
was breathing hard, after his recent exertions.
“You mean about capturing the herd, Frank?”
“I mean about making prisoners of the rustlers,” replied the other;
“because, you understand, we couldn’t run the cattle out of this place
without first clipping the claws of Mendoza and his crowd.”
“I suppose that’s so,” replied Bob; “because such a big bunch of
long-horns must make considerable racket when on the jump.”
“Sure; but then that isn’t the only thing,” Frank remarked.
“What else would hinder us running ’em off?” his chum demanded.
“’Sh! not so loud, Bob. Drop down to the whisper again. Why, stop and
think, how do you suppose cattle could run along that path where you
nearly took a header, and in the dark too?”
“Shucks! I should say so, Frank. Funny now I didn’t think of that. Why,
to be sure, the chances are, half of ’em would drop over. It’s bad
enough in daylight, let alone with that tricky moon, or the darkness.
Well, go on; what’s to be done?”
“I’ll tell you,” Frank continued. “The scheme is this—to wait ’till
later in the night; then perhaps we’ll find a chance to shut the crowd
up in one of the cabins, that biggest one, it might be. While some kept
the rustlers there, the rest of us, at dawn, could start the herd going.
Once out of this valley they couldn’t hold us from driving the cattle
home.”
“Sounds fine, Frank, and I reckon I can see your dad’s hand back of the
scheme.”
“They hatched it up between ’em, anyhow; and it struck me as the
greatest thing going. Scotty says he thinks there aren’t more than nine
of the rustlers, without counting the fellow we’ve got already. But
they’re gun fighters, every one, and would give us a hard battle if it
came to that sort of thing.”
“That means we’ve got to hang around here all night, doesn’t it, Frank?”
“About that,” replied the other.
“Gee! how can we stand it for hours and hours?” Bob grunted.
“You don’t have to. Go to sleep whenever you feel like it. I’ll promise
to wake you up before the circus starts,” Frank assured him.
“As if I could!” said Bob, reproachfully.
“The others are coming in this direction,” Frank remarked, still keeping
his voice down to the lowest possible pitch.
“What for?” asked his chum.
“Scotty says,” Frank went on, “the spring is here that supplies the camp
with water; and by hanging out close by something may be heard. I can
just catch the little sound now that tells me they’re coming; so don’t
be worried, and think it’s one of the rustlers creeping up on us.”
“I’m glad you told me then, Frank, because it might have bothered me
some. Come to think of it, I reckon the spring must be in that little
bunch of trees over yonder. It seems to be open from there right into
camp.”
“Right again, Bob. You see it pays a fellow to keep his wits about him,
and use his eyes in the bargain. But here’s Scotty right at my elbow;
and that must be dad coming up on the other side of you. Enough said,
Bob.”
They lapsed into silence. Bob knew that several unseen forms had ranged
close by, and he could easily understand that these were the balance of
the Circle Ranch cow puncher outfit, carrying out the directions given
by their employer.
Bob had been idly watching the camp, which was not far away, when he
suddenly became aware of the fact that a single figure had issued from
among the tents and cabins, and was approaching.
He nudged his chum, as though to call his attention to the fact.
“I see him,” whispered Frank; “and unless I miss my guess, that is
Mendoza himself. I’ve heard him described often enough to know.”
“But what’s he coming this way for?” asked Bob, a little nervous at
hearing such information, and with his eyes still glued to the
approaching figure of the Mexican.
“Give it up,” Frank replied; “still, the spring is over yonder, and
perhaps he wants a nice cool drink, after smoking so much. We’ll watch
and see.”
“Oh! wouldn’t it be great if some of the boys and Scotty could capture
him while he’s bending down to drink?” said Bob.
“Great stunt,” assented Frank; “but hardly possible. Too close to the
camp; and the first cry would upset everything. Let’s wait and see what
happens.”
“Look again, Frank!”
“Yes, I see another man has started out after him; and as sure as you
live, Bob, we ought to know that figure.”
“It looks like an Indian to me,” whispered the Kentucky lad.
“It is an Indian, and one belonging to the Moqui tribe up near the Grand
Canyon, too. Look again, Bob. What do you say now?”
“I declare, that’s queer!” said the other.
“Then you think you know him, do you, Bob?”
“But what could old Havasupai be doing down here among the rustlers,
when we left him headed back for his village?” Bob ventured.
“Stop and think again, Bob. You remember when we first made his
acquaintance the old fellow was about to steal one of our horses. When
we caught him he claimed that he was fleeing from his people because he
had done something that made him an outcast. Perhaps when he went back
they kicked him out again; and in the end he’s just fallen in with these
wild rustlers.”
“But it’s old Havasupai as sure as anything, Frank!”
“That goes; but drop out now, Bob, you’re getting too close for us to
whisper any more. Just keep your ears open, and perhaps we’ll hear
something worth while that may explain things. Silence now, Bob.”
The leading figure had reached a point close to the clump of small trees
from which the sound of running water proceeded. Bob had seen the
Mexican look back, several times, as though he knew the other was
following him; but he manifested no sign of fear.
Entering among the trees he was gone for a couple of minutes, during
which time he undoubtedly quenched his thirst. Meanwhile the Indian drew
near. He did not attempt to enter the copse, but waited for the Mexican
to come into view again. It might have been dangerous for anyone to
follow Pedro Mendoza into the shadows, for he was suspicious of all men
and their intentions.
When Mendoza, if the Mexican were really that person, came forth once
more, he found the old Indian waiting for him.
“Well, what do you want with me, Havasupai?” he asked, in an irritated
tone, as though the interview did not promise to give him any too much
pleasure.
Bob was surprised to hear him speak such good English, for most of the
Mexicans whom he had met thus far had a sort of patois of their
own, in which Spanish words and phrases were mixed with American.
But then he had felt the same way when he heard the Moqui Indian talk,
until he remembered that for years Havasupai had come in contact with
tourists, and in one way or another picked up considerable information,
as well as the speech of the whites.
“Many moons ago the White Wolf came and took the daughter of Havasupai
away from the lodges of her people,” the Moqui began; “but Antelope went
willingly, because she would be the squaw of the white man. Now
Havasupai is sent away to live or die like a dog, because he has broken
the laws of the Moquis, and he would see again the face of his child
before he passes to the land of the Manitou.”
“So, that’s the reason you hunted me up, was it, old man?” said the
Mexican, with a short, ugly laugh. “When you told me what had happened
to make you an exile I thought at first you only wanted shelter and
food. Your daughter is far from here, down in my country. And as I don’t
care to have you meddling around, I refuse to tell you where she can be
found. Go back to your people; or jump into the sacred river, for all of
me; but see Antelope again you never will! Get out of my way!”
Bob thought at first the old chief was about to throw himself on the
insulting Mexican. Whatever was in the mind of the Moqui exile, he
seemed to hold himself in check. The Mexican walked on back to the camp,
never dreaming what lay in those shadows close by; while the Indian,
wandering still closer to where the Circle Ranch cowboys lay, sat down
on a rock as though to meditate upon his gloomy outlook.