A STRANGE MEETING
"There ain't no chance of our pony's bein' there," remarked Tender,
thinking more of the grizzly than anything else. "They'll think we're
tellin' a fish story about that bear."
"If it was my own pony," said Carlito, "I wouldn't be afraid to bet my
best quiver that he'd still be there. This one I don't know."
Their homeward journey was somewhat different from the climb upward. The
ground was soggy and wet with soaked leaves and mud, while water
constantly dripped upon them as they passed under the trees. The sun,
now setting just above the peak, gave a wan light through a half-mist,
half-fog, which had arisen. They were still in rather high altitude, and
the air was moist and cold. Creeping things, frightened into their holes
by the storm, now ventured forth and skimmed across the ground
frequently, disappearing again under the scraggy underbrush.
"Soon be time for the bats and owls," observed Dunk, as a surprised
lizard hurried across their path.
Though they were all damp and chilled and anxious to regain their
original camp, the boys kept up a cheerful conversation all the way.
"Funny you fellows didn't see that bird," said Fred.
"There wasn't no bird," twitted Jerry. "You just blinked your eyes when
that flash came, and dreamt the rest."
"On the square though, fellows," seriously commented Herb, "Fred may be
right, and that old tower may be the very place we're lookin' for."
"It's worth while thinking about," said Hawke. "We'll fly up there
anyway, as soon as we get the aeroplane going."
"Seems to me that's too good to be true," reflected Fly. "I never
thought, when I was readin' all that stuff about machines, that I was
goin' to see a real one, and help build it myself."
His tone was so droll that some of the others laughed. "Give Fly a
handkerchief," groaned Tender. "He wants to blubber, he does."
"Don't feel so bad about it, old boy," comforted Jerry. "Maybe the train
with the stuff on it'll be wrecked, or Hawke'll change his mind, or
we'll find out that it's been Greasers doin' the dirty work."
"Guess I'm kind of a howler," admitted Fly. "But watch me work when we
get at that plane."
Just then Carlito picked up a long, thin snake, which had wiggled across
the ground in front of him, and, swinging it around and around by its
tail, sent it whizzing through space.
"Nothing but a garter snake," he explained, laughing, as Gray
unconsciously ducked his head, and Fred gasped with astonishment. "I
usually twist their heads off."
"Wonder you don't get your foot in it some time, Carl," declared Fred.
"Ain't you afraid of nothin'?"
"No bad luck can happen to me," said Carl confidently, though with a
smile. "See this?" He pulled out from under his wet shirt a string to
which was fastened a large blue and white streaked stone bead.
"What's that?" asked several of the boys.
"A charm. Taken from the grave of one of my ancestors. There were just
two in our tribe, and an old squaw gave it to me before I came to the
Fort. Some one else in the family has the other one. She said it was the
family charm and nothing could happen to me as long as I wore it."
Hawke smiled at this characteristic explanation, but the boys took it
very seriously.
"Remember anything about your father, Carl?" asked the aviator,
interested in the story nevertheless.
"They told me he was the bravest man in his tribe, and the swiftest
runner. They wanted to make him chief, but his older brother, who was
not so well liked, wanted to be made chief also and grew jealous of my
father. One day a party of them went out on a hunt, and my father was
separated from the bunch. They found him later in the forest, lying face
downward with an arrow straight through him. Everybody thought my uncle
did it. He went away soon after."
"What about the old squaw?" inquired Gray.
"Oh, she died just before I came here. She was over a hundred. I have
her old pipe. She gave me a lot of things that were my father's--a fine
quiver and his bow. I remember what she said when she gave it to me.
'Your father was a brave man and a great hunter,' she said. 'See that
you do not disgrace him.' I have the arrow that killed him, and the
blanket which my mother wove. They're in my room at the fort."
By this time the mist had lifted and the sun had gone down. They were
walking in a narrow passage which almost amounted to a gorge. Huge
jagged rocks jutted out here and there on either side, many of them
squeezing between them some deserted cliff dwelling. Rugged brown shrubs
clung stubbornly to the sides or grew sparsely on the surface wherever
they could find soil. The whole scene was softened by the warm colors of
the departing sunlight.
"Good-bye pony!" exclaimed Fred, when they reached the spot where they
had left the animal.
"Nowhere in sight," added Fly.
"Call him, Carl," urged Herb.
The Indian gave a series of calls, but there was no response. The wind
and rain had entirely annihilated any trace of the fire they had made
for the pony's protection.
"Maybe he doesn't answer to a call," said Carl. "Or maybe I didn't have
the right one. Just for fun I'll try an old one."
More in jest than in earnest he emitted a peculiar weird sound, based on
several tones of the scale.
No answering whinny came. "I didn't think he'd know that anyway," said
the boy. "I never heard it but once. An old chief taught it to me and
said it used to be my father's call."
"Let's scour around a little," suggested Gray.
"All right. You stay here, and I'll see what I can find," replied Carl
turning to the left. But he stopped short. In front of him stood a tall,
stately, blanketed Indian. His whole face was hideously painted in
various colors running in stripes backward from the nose, across his
forehead and chin. His arms were folded, and his countenance was set and
expressionless. A flashing pair of beadlike eyes, almost snaky, were
fastened on Carl.
[Illustration: Carl stopped short. In front of him stood a tall,
stately, blanketed Indian. His whole face was hideously painted in
various colors, and his countenance was set and expressionless.]
"Whilligers, where'd he come from!" whispered Fred, as the boys stood
perplexed and amazed at this apparition. Nobody had heard him approach,
or seen him, until they discovered him standing like a carved statue,
coolly regarding Carl.
"Hello, what do you want?" chirruped Carl, cheerfully, not at all
abashed.
The older Indian drew himself straighter, if possible, and replied in
his own tongue, which Carl afterwards said was original Apache.
"Where did you learn that call?" demanded the tall stranger, almost
fiercely.
"It belonged to my tepee," responded the boy.
"You Apache?"
"Yes."
"Umph," grunted the Indian, and stood silently, with his penetrating
eyes fixed on Carl.
"You are no true Apache," he said finally. "You wear the clothes of the
palefaces, and live with them. You hunt with them. You care nothing for
the trials and sufferings of your fathers--the big chiefs in the land of
the happy hunting ground."
Carl said nothing, but watched his critic curiously. He had
unconsciously drawn himself up to his full height, and, though slighter,
his form matched in symmetry, grace and stateliness that of the older
man.
"I bring back to my people the religion of their fathers," continued the
stranger. And he threw open his blanket. Carl and the others started,
almost with horror. The broad, brown chest was entirely tattooed in
flaming vermilion with the design of a huge and ferocious form of an
eagle.
"I go to look for the Thunder Bird and his shrine," said the Indian,
wrapping himself again, and pointing majestically upward. "My people
shall worship him again, and thus shall I gain favor with the Great
Spirit whom I have displeased."
He turned and started off in the direction from which the boys had come.
Suddenly he stopped short and turned back. "Where is your tepee?" he
demanded of Carl.
"At the fort."
"The tepee where you learn the call?" impatiently reiterated the
questioner.
"In the far-away country," answered the Indian boy. "I do not remember
now. I was taken away when a child."
The older Indian looked at him steadily, as though he would penetrate
the boy's soul and read the history of his life. Then he grunted and
went on.
"Well, I never saw him before," was Carl's first remark, as the
retreating figure disappeared around a bend. Then he translated to the
boys the queer conversation.
"And he's looking for the Thunder Bird," repeated Hawke. "That does seem
odd, doesn't it?"
"He went in the direction of the tower, too," put in Fred, glad to have
his contention strengthened by this occurrence.
"Acts to me as though he'd sort of lost his mind," went on Carl. "Some
of the Indians get to thinking about their wrongs until they go bugs."
"Better lookin' than any of the old Indians around here," remarked Dunk,
thinking of wizened and wrinkled old Tommy.
"Funny he knew that old call," reflected Carl. "Wonder where he came
from anyhow?"
"Well, I suppose he'll turn up again, if he's wandering around here
long," commented Jerry. "Looks kind of savage."
"Anyhow, that's not findin' our pony," reminded Fly, and Carl started
off to explore the near-by timber.
"Or gettin' home and gettin' warm," added Herb, registering the first
complaint.
"If Fly don't dry his hair it'll get rustier," chimed in Jerry.
"Might as well go back," advised Carl, returning from a short,
unsuccessful search. "No use of us standing around here shivering. Maybe
our friend the big chief took him along."
"Perhaps he thought he was white man's property and would take him for
some of the debts we owe the race," suggested Herb. "But I don't care
for nothin' but the grizzly."
Two hours later, when they reached the fort, dirty, tired, muddy and
damp, they found, to their great surprise, lying on the captain's front
porch, stretched out at full length, the dead bear.
"Hello, fellows," shouted Captain Crawford, coming out of the house. "We
were getting worried about you. Glad you showed up. The pony came back,
and I see you got acquainted with a grizzly."
The ladies appeared in the doorway, while Jerry's father went over and
gave the bear a push with his foot.
"That's a beaut," he exclaimed. "Who bagged him?"
"Hawke," came the instant response.
"We all did," corrected the aviator. "And we had a great time doin' it."
"Gee, we've had a corker of a day," exclaimed Jerry. "Lots of things
happened."
"Get inside here now," ordered the captain, and the ladies quickly
approved this advice. "Take off your wet duds. Jerry, give the boys some
clean things."
"Guess we'll go home," said Fly, speaking for Carl and Dunk. "Say," he
added, anxious to break the news, "we think we've found the Thunder Bird
nest."
"You better get under cover before you catch the rheumatics," laughed
the captain.
It was nearly dusk now, and the white moon had appeared in the east,
floating gently over restless, shifting clouds, but the evening was as
serene and clear as if it had succeeded a calm, uneventful day.
After putting on an outfit of dry clothes, Herb and Tender started for
the ranch, where they found Mr. Phipps waiting for them, and Hop on hand
to take care of their wants. After some warm broth they sat up late into
the night relating the day's events to the interested rancher.
As for Carl, he sat up for an hour studying as was his custom, then lay
awake for some time staring thoughtfully into the darkness of his little
room, which was a small one over Fly's machine shops.
"Wonder who that Indian was," he pondered. "A real Apache, and he knew
that old call. Lookin' for the Thunder Bird. What if he had known my
folks?" But soon his thoughts trailed off into dreamland, and he slept
as only active boys can, until another day of promise dawned. For every
sunrise in the life of a boy foretells a day of events.