CHAPTER XA SURPRISEWhen 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 soundtold 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 wheneveryou 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 theMexican 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 ofpatoisof 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.
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 soundtold 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 wheneveryou 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 theMexican 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 ofpatoisof 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.