_THE PROFESSOR'S JOB_
Within a few days the professor's tent and cot arrived, and after that
Ma Patten pleaded in vain for him to stay with them. The old man was
independent and insisted on getting established in his own quarters.
He had already chosen a spot in Lost Canyon with the aid of Indian Joe,
who knew the best springs and the best place to pitch a tent.
And Professor Gillette could not have had a better helper. Under a
huge cottonwood tree, there was a bubbling spring, cool and clear, and
down the creek a short distance was a small pool.
"Why, there's my bath room!" laughed the old man. "Talk about modern
conveniences, I have them all."
The Merriweather Girls were eager to help the old man get settled. And
when the five of them with Tommy Sharpe got to work they soon had
everything in order. Tommy levelled a space and beat it down until it
was smooth. Judge Breckenridge had suggested that boards be laid for a
floor but at this the professor protested vehemently.
"I've come out here to live the simple life, the life of an explorer.
I want to rough it, even endure hardships. It will do me good," he
asserted, objecting to anything that might seem like luxury.
But after a day or two of trying to cook his meals over a small outdoor
fire, he accepted a tiny stove from Mrs. Patten. Primitive living was
all right, but it was a waste of time to cook over an open fire.
And one day he returned from a long hike over the hills and settled
into a rocking chair that the good neighbor had placed before his door,
in his absence, and did not protest but took it gratefully. After a
strenuous day, it would be good to drop into the restful depths of an
easy chair and enjoy the glories of the canyon.
But he refused her help very decidedly when she dropped in one morning
and found him at his weekly wash. His shirts and overalls were spread
out on a large flat stone in the creek and he was beating them
incessantly with a small paddle.
"I'm enjoying the washing," he declared with a laugh. "I don't mind it
at all."
"But your work, your discoveries?" inquired Ma Patten.
"They can wait while I get clean! Anyway I haven't had much luck. The
Indians will give me no help at all."
"Why are you so keen about these Indian relics? We can give you any
number of arrowheads and baskets and stuff. You're welcome to them if
it will help you any," offered Mrs. Patten sympathetically.
"That's not exactly what I want," the professor said. "I'm interested
in American Indians, and have always been considered an authority on
the subject. But I'm getting old and younger men are stepping into the
field. They think I'm just a musty old professor with nothing but a
book knowledge of Indian ruins. So I have to show them."
"What's the use?" answered Ma Patten contemptuously. "These young
fellows always can beat us in the end and we might as well give up
gracefully."
"But that isn't all. My job's at stake. If I don't do something to
get up-to-date I'll be shoved out. They want men who go out and do
spectacular things that get them into the newspapers. I was told that
my department would have to be snapped up a bit! Isn't that terrible
language for educators to use? And if my job goes, I don't know what
I'll do. I've got responsibilities, heavy ones."
"Have you a large family, Professor Gillette?" asked the woman.
"No, I have only one daughter but she is an invalid. She was studying
to be a dancer and one slippery day in winter she fell and broke her
hip. And she has never been able to dance since."
"Oh, that's terrible! The poor child!"
"She's as happy as a lark. She has never given up faith that as soon
as she is taken to see a specialist in the city, she will be cured. It
is for that operation that I must earn more money. And with the fear
of losing my position in the college you can see why I must make good
this summer."
"Well, you'll find plenty of Indian signs around these mountains," Mrs.
Patten informed him.
"That's strange!" The professor exclaimed, "That man, Kie Wicks,
claims that there never were Indians in these hills. None to speak of,
he said. Told me I was barking up the wrong tree. Oh yes, he was
quite certain I was going to fail. But I mustn't fail! I can't fail!"
"Of course you won't fail! And you needn't believe a word that Kie
Wicks says. He doesn't want people to come into this canyon. He
believes in the myth about the treasure and he makes it hard for anyone
who comes in. One old prospector had to leave because Kie had it in
for him. He just couldn't stay."
"What did Kie Wicks do?" asked the old man.
"Well, for one thing he would sell the prospector meat and at night
steal it all back. And the old chap was shot at in the dark and
threatened until he gave up after putting in several months working on
the claims. So you needn't expect any help from that ruffian," stormed
Ma Patten.
"I don't know what to do. I must find that Indian village." Professor
Gillette had no notion of giving up, not for all the western bad men he
had ever heard about. He had come to Arizona to find an Indian village
and that he must do.
"Why don't you go over the hill there? We used to find bits of pottery
and arrowheads and even some Indian ornaments made of silver. I have a
few of them at home. Be sure to remind me to show them to you. You'll
be interested."
The professor's face glowed with excitement. "I'd like to ask you for
more particulars as to the exact place," he exclaimed.
"I'll do better than that. Kit will take you over there some day and
like as not you'll find just what you are after," Mrs. Patten assured
him.
While they were still talking Tommy Sharpe arrived with a note from
Mrs. Breckenridge. It was an invitation to supper that evening.
"Isn't that kind! I'll be so glad to go. She's a beautiful and
gracious woman."
"It's a sort of party, I judge," said Mrs. Patten, beaming with
pleasure and opening a note that Tommy had passed her. "We're all
invited to dinner."
That was Virginia Breckenridge's way of keeping in touch with her
neighbors. On learning of Professor Gillette's business in the
mountains, she had sent to New York for books on Indian legends, Indian
ruins and anything that might give the professor a clue to what he
wanted to find. And much to her surprise, a book on Indian legends was
written by Anton Gillette.
"Our professor is a modest man," laughed Enid. "Imagine him not
telling us that he had written a book. He's got his typewriter with
him, I wonder if he is planning another book."
"Let's go and ask him," announced Bet, jumping up and starting toward
the door.
"It's ten o'clock! He'll be sound asleep," said Shirley. "Don't you
think you can wait until morning?"
Bet had waited and then asked the old man, but she got little
satisfaction. The professor was shy about his work.
But that was exactly what he was planning to do. If he could make some
discoveries, get some practical knowledge and then write about it, he
would save his job and increase his income so that his daughter might
get the treatment to restore her health.
A sum of money had been offered to the old man for research work, and
he had accepted it gladly. He knew from the history of Arizona that a
large Indian village must have been situated in the region of Lost
Canyon, and it was here that he hoped to find the burial place of the
wealthy chief.
The younger teachers heard of his plan and smiled with condescension.
They did not imagine for a minute that the old man could stand the
strenuous trip to the southwest and find the Indian village. It was a
stunt that they would have hesitated to undertake.
But Anton Gillette was made of different stuff. Here was his chance,
he must win out. As he looked into the pale face of his daughter,
Alicia, her eyes glowing with hope both for her father and her own
future, he had vowed that no hardships would be too great for him to
overcome.
And here he was in the mountains, camping in Lost Canyon within, he
believed, arm's length of the ruins. But so far he had not found them.
Luck was with him, that he knew. Everywhere from the time he had left
home, he had found friends to help him. They gladly gave him advice,
and in the case of The Merriweather Girls, they would have been happy
to serve him in every way. They were quite indignant when the old man
pitched his tent far from the ranch where they could not see him so
often.
"It will never do," thought the professor. "I'll get soft if they wait
on me and give me the idea that I can't do things for myself."
But the invitation from Virginia Breckenridge was another thing. These
visits he loved. They were always helpful. The Judge was as
interested in the finding of the ruins now as the old man himself. It
was his only way to help the independent professor, who refused all
financial aid, and the two men were often seen riding the hills
together, speculating on the prospect of an ancient village there.
But still they had not found it, after a week of search.
Someone else was anxious to accompany the old man on his trips. It was
Kie Wicks.
And while Professor Gillette enjoyed the daily visits of the girls and
the occasional calls from Judge Breckenridge or Dad Patten, he found
the storekeeper very trying. Kie arrived at the tent early and stayed
late.
"That man acts as if he were spying on me. I wonder what he's afraid
of. There is nothing here to steal that I can see."
This continued for a week and then ended abruptly. After that Kie
Wicks came only once in a long time. This had been Maude's doing.
"You ain't getting no where at all, Kie. You keep that old book-worm
from hunting or doing whatever he wants to do. Now if I were you, I'd
let old Booky do his searching, then cook up a plan to do him out of
whatever he finds."
"Maude, you're a wonder! Why didn't I think of that myself? I
couldn't have found a better wife anywhere than you."
So Kie did not appear the next morning.
But it was not until noon that the professor knew that he had been
deserted. His patience was at an end so he had risen before dawn and
left the tent, striking off over the hills where Mrs. Patten had
indicated. He returned at noon with arrowheads and a stone axe but
there was no sign of ruins.
But the old man was not discouraged. These signs of Indians merely
gave him the necessary urge to investigate.
Before he had finished lunch the girls arrived.
"Where's your bosom friend today?" they asked mockingly. "You and Kie
Wicks are almost inseparable. It's quite touching to see such
devotion," laughed Bet, who knew of the old man's impatience.
Bet laughed and the contagion of her merriment started the other girls
and their voices echoed back to them from the canyon wall opposite.
While they stood there, a strange procession appeared around the bend
in the trail. A band of horses one after the other, filed by.
"Poor horses!" exclaimed Bet in sympathy.
"Horses!" sneered Kit. "Those are not horses, they are just racks of
bones, that's all. And that's the way most of the Indian ponies look."
The professor was speechless. He watched the procession with interest.
Fat squaws rode huddled over their nags, each carrying a baby strapped
to her back. Small boys ran beside the horses or clung on behind the
mother. The men usually rode free and on one of the animals, the
professor saw an old Indian.
"I wish I could talk to him," he whispered to Kit, who was standing
near him.
"You'll have your chance before the day is over. They usually camp
right here where you are. I'm surprised that Indian Joe suggested this
spot. They are not apt to go far away from here."
As Kit spoke the squaw heading the procession stopped, and it looked as
if she rolled off her horse as she dismounted. She had evidently found
a suitable place to camp. The professor was delighted that it was on
the opposite side of the stream where he could watch them. A tepee was
made almost before the squaws were all out of their saddles. A large
piece of sacking was thrown over small bushes which were tied together
at the top to form an arch. This was the only shelter put up by the
Indians when on the march.
The men dismounted, sat down by the stream and smoked their pipes,
while the women and children scurried about, gathering fire wood and
starting a blaze.
In a few minutes they had settled down to life for a few days, the life
that the Indians loved, carefree, indolent and happy.
The professor was greatly elated. Here was a chance to watch the
modern Indian at least and see how he lived. He would have something
to tell his class.
"That's Old Mapia," confided Kit. "He's supposed to be about a hundred
years old. You're in luck if you can get him to talk. Some of the
young ones will translate for him if he gets stuck. I'll send Old Mary
over, if he won't talk to you. She can make him tell stories."
Before the afternoon was over, the professor had invited the old Indian
to have a smoke with him, then offered him cookies and other
delicacies, and while he accepted without a sign of appreciation, the
ice was broken and when the professor began to ask questions the old
Indian answered as well as he could, and Young Wolf supplied the
missing words that his grandfather had forgotten.
"Yes, once a very long time ago there were many Indians here, a city!"
droned the old fellow and the professor edged closer to hear him,
fascinated by the wrinkled face.
"My father--my grandfather, yes, he know. Up yonder somewhere a large
village, where the Indians make baskets and rugs and silver and
pottery, long ago. There were good times then. Indians plenty rich.
No white men. My grandfather tell me heaps."
"Where was the village?" asked Professor Gillette.
"No find any more,--gone!" The Indian shook his head and with a wave
of his hand indicated every hill surrounding the canyon.
"I think he knows," the professor confided to the girls that afternoon
when he went up to see Dad Patten. "But it's probably a secret."
"No, it's on account of the curse," said Kit.
"But what has the curse to do with it?" the professor asked.
"Plenty. The daughter of the old chief still walks at times, and she
cursed that village, and the Indians try to forget that there ever was
such a place. None of them will go near it."
"What does the ghost look like, Kit?" asked Bet.
"She always wears a costume of deerskin and feathers. And at night she
just appears out of nothing in Lost Canyon. One minute she isn't there
and the next she is. And when she appears she is supposed to curse
those who see her. They run for their lives."
"Is that true?" Joy's voice was trembling. "If it is, I won't ever go
into this canyon again."
"Don't worry, Joy. If you are good you'll never see the ghost. Only
those who are planning to do wrong see her."
The girls laughed at the timid Joy. "Don't worry, dear," Bet patted
her hand lovingly. "I'll take care of you."
"Some say," went on Kit, "that the ruin of the village must be left
untouched, and that any one disturbing it will see the ghost."
"And that's why Old Mapia won't talk," said the professor. "He's
afraid of the curse. It would hasten matters very much if I could get
some reliable information as to the location of the village."
"And are you really going to hunt for the village after that?" Bet's
eyes were glowing.
"Yes, I'm not afraid of the curse. I'll find that village. Alicia is
expecting me to. I must make good."
"That's the way to talk, Professor Gillette! And remember this, The
Merriweather Girls will help you in any way we can. We're not afraid
of any curse. We're with you, every one of us."
Joy started to speak. She turned pale then suddenly gave up. "All
right. If Bet leads, I follow!"
But there was no wild enthusiasm in her promise.