JUST BEFORE THE MOON SET
Bob knew that his chum had been wriggling past him for some little time,
and he guessed that Frank wanted to communicate with his father. Now the
Kentucky lad could hear them whispering in the lowest possible tones.
He wondered that the old Moqui, squatted so close by, did not catch
sounds that might arouse his suspicions; but on looking again Bob saw
that he still sat there on the rock, his Navajo blanket drawn about his
head, the picture of woe, as though the whole world had turned against
him.
It might be the ears of Havasupai were getting old, and he did not hear
as keenly as could a young warrior. Or possibly he was so wrapped up in
his bitter reflections that he gave small heed to anything that was
passing. Then again it would be easy to mistake the whispering of Frank
and his father for the twittering of the birds disturbed on their
roosts.
Just why Frank wanted to confer with his father Bob of course was unable
to understand.
He found himself wondering whether the unexpected presence of this old
friend might not have something to do with his move. Frank was quick to
see an advantage, and use it, when he believed it would serve his
purpose.
And as Bob still lay there in his rather uncomfortable attitude, waiting
for something to happen whereby the conditions might be changed, he
heard a low, cautious voice, which he recognized as that of his chum,
softly calling:
“Havasupai!”
The gay blanket moved, and the head of the old Moqui came into view.
“Who calls the Lonely One?” he asked, in steady tones, as though not
quite sure whether he were dreaming, or hearing the voice of Manitou.
“Come this way, where you see the branch shaking. It is a friend. Frank,
the boy you met in the Grand Canyon. I want to talk with you.”
Soft as the words were spoken, they reached the ear of the Indian. He
immediately gained his feet. There was no such thing as fear about
Havasupai, for without the slightest hesitation he started directly
toward the spot where the quivering branch guided his steps.
Then a figure rose up to meet him as he entered the dense shadows. He
recognized Frank, and put out his dusky and withered palm with the
Indian salutation.
“Speak in a whisper, chief,” Frank said, as he took the hand of the
Moqui; “for we don’t want the rustlers to know we are here. They have
stolen my father’s cattle, and we have come to get them back, even if we
have to fight for them.”
The old Indian grunted. Evidently he could easily comprehend the
situation; for he must know what occupation the man followed who had
carried his daughter away from the lodges of her people, and now refused
to let him see her face for the very last time.
He had already seen that there were many others in hiding close by, men
who were dressed as cattle drivers, and who carried arms which they
evidently knew how to use.
“Perhaps you can help us, Chief,” Frank went on; and from this Bob knew
that it was about this matter his chum and the colonel had been
whispering.
“Ugh! Frank much friend Havasupai, long go. Not forget. How can help?”
was what the old Moqui said.
“We heard what the rustler said to you,” Frank went on eagerly, though
carefully. “He scorns you because your people have sent you out to die
like a dog or a coyote. Help us to trap Mendoza and his men. We would
shut them up in the cabins while we run off our stock. And as you are
allowed in the camp, you might be of great help to us. Will you do it,
Havasupai? If we win out, my father says he will look after you, and see
to it that you find Antelope again.”
The old Moqui did not hesitate. Anyone who would promise that was his
friend. Besides, he doubtless secretly hated and despised Mendoza, and
would be glad to see him tricked.
“Tell me what to do, Frank; Havasupai knows your tongue is straight. He
will trust you,” he answered.
“Here is my father,” the boy went on; “who owns the Circle Ranch stock
farm. Come a little further into the bushes, where you can speak with
him. We must be careful not to be heard by any of those in the camp.”
Upon that invitation the Indian folded his blanket calmly about him, and
stalked in among the bushes. He did not know what sort of reception
might await him; but he was a seasoned warrior, and could not flinch
from danger. From the time he could pull a bow-string he had been
accustomed to looking peril in the face, and smiling at its terrors. In
his old age, then, it could not be expected that his nature would
change.
For a long time he remained there, holding a conversation with Colonel
Haywood and Scotty. Perhaps the leaders of the cowboys picked up more or
less valuable information through this channel, for the Indian was
willing to turn upon the man who had treated him so scurvily.
Bob had settled down to watching again when he saw a figure leave the
shelter of the thicket, and head straight for the camp. Of course he
knew that this was the old Moqui. No danger of Havasupai betraying their
presence. That promise of the stockman in connection with finding his
daughter for him would serve to hold him loyal, even if gratitude toward
the two boys for what they had done before was lacking in his breast.
“What time do you think it can be, Frank?” asked Bob, when his chum once
again cuddled down alongside him.
The prairie boy, through instinct, cast his eyes upwards. He was able to
tell what Bob wanted to know by the position of the moon. Had that been
lacking, then the low-lying star that trembled above the hill-top to the
west would have given him the information he wanted. Nature holds a
thousand secrets that become as an open book to those who have learned
how to read her signs.
“About eleven by the watch,” Frank replied, readily, after that one
glance up at the starry heavens.
“And do we have to keep this thing up till nearly dawn?” asked the
other.
“Oh! I reckon it isn’t quite so bad as that,” replied Frank. “Dad says
we will draw back some and get a little sleep. Around about an hour
before daybreak we get back here, and then we can all listen for the
signal of the Moqui.”
“What will that tell us, Frank?”
“That the trap is ready to be sprung. In other words, Bob, that the
rustlers are snug in the bunk-house there. When we learn that, Scotty
and his boys will creep up, close the door, and fasten it, ditto the
windows; and then we’ll be ready to get the stock moving with the peep
of day.”
“Say, won’t they be a hot bunch, though, when they find out what’s
happened to ’em?” Bob remarked.
“That goes without saying,” his chum answered. “Perhaps they may try to
break out. In that case there’s going to be a rough-house time. But
Mendoza is more cunning than bold, dad says; and he believes that when
the rustler knows how he’s in a fix, he’ll keep quiet, and let us run
off the stock, rather than risk his neck trying to defend it.”
“You said we might get a little sleep, didn’t you, Frank?”
“Yes, and by the way you keep on yawning, I can see you need it, all
right. And as I hear some of the boys making a move, it looks like they
meant to follow out the idea, and get further away from the camp.”
“But tell me why they want to go back, when this is as good cover as we
can find anywhere?” Bob asked.
“One man will stay here to keep tabs on what is happening in camp,”
Frank answered, as if he had it all figured out in his own mind, and did
not hesitate about posting his companion. “But it’s safer for the others
to sleep far enough away, so if there happens to be a big snorer among
’em, he won’t tell the rustlers that we’ve come to town to pay them a
visit.”
“Oh! I see now; and I’m glad I’m not one of that kind, Frank.”
The two chums moved back with the rest. A short time later they were
gathered in a retired spot, where the stockman took the pains to explain
the conditions, so that everyone might be fully posted.
“Now get what sleep you can, boys,” he finished. “A few hours won’t be
long; and when the right time comes, we’ll move out on the firing line
once more. Try and keep from making any more noise that you can help. No
telling what might happen, you know. And I have heard men snore loud
enough to almost make the house shake.”
They dropped just where they happened to be at the time; and each one
after his own way sought the sleep needed to put them in shape for work.
The last Bob knew he was looking up through the branches of a tree at
the bright moon, glimpses of which crept in through the interlaced
leaves. Then he lost himself entirely, confident that those who kept
watch would see to it that no evil befell the sleepers.
Of course it was Frank who gently shook Bob, and thus awoke him. Left to
himself it was doubtful when the Kentucky boy would have opened his eyes
again, until the sun, rising over the ridge in the east, told of another
day.
Bob sat up, rubbing his eyes with his knuckles.
“Keep still, Bob! Remember where you are!” said Frank, quickly; for he
judged that as yet the other did not realize the nature of the
situation; and there was always a possibility that he might call out
before he understood.
“Whew! I had forgotten, for a fact,” breathed Bob. “Is it time, do you
think?”
“Some of them are moving, and it woke me up,” came the reply. “Yes,
there’s Scotty going around now, and shaking every sleeper. We’re going
to move up, Bob. See, the moon is low down over the western ridge, and
it must be about four o’clock.”
“And I’ve been asleep over four hours, then; why, it didn’t feel more’n
a few winks,” remarked Bob, astonished at the truth; “but I feel better,
Frank, and ready to do my part in the game. So let’s get a move on, as
the others are doing.”