Part 18 (1/2)

”She may have been able to hide when the Apaches made their raid,” Jim replied, ”or possibly she was so old that she was worthless and I guess she is something of a sorceress, so they thought it best to leave her alone. She is trying to get the Indian sign on Jo now.”

The old hag was pointing at me, with one long skinny finger and muttering; something that repeated the same words over and over again.

She started to rise up and I shrunk back. I hated being singled out by her.

”Sit down you,” thundered Jim, ”down, I tell you. No more of your cursed nonsense.”

The old woman actually obeyed him and she sank back, her grey head shaking with palsy. I guess she thought that Jim was the Big Chief all right.

”Come on, boys,” he said, ”let's call on somebody else. The poor old lady is too eccentric and we don't want to excite her.”

So we went out, but we found nothing more of especial interest, except that Jim unearthed a blanket that had evidently belonged to some Navajo.

It was thick and warm, with white ground and grey design.

After finis.h.i.+ng with the village we went out on the mesa to look around.

We found that it was covered with quite a depth of soil and there were signs that it once had been well cultivated.

”I guess these people grew maize up here. You can see where the soil has been turned over,” said Jim. ”Look here, boys, I have found an old plow.”

We looked at it with real curiosity. It was certainly a primitive article, made of grey weathered wood and the plowshare also of some hard wood, just enough to stir the ground.

”These people must have been independent here and happy too,” said Tom.

”It was a shame they had to be run out by those Apaches.”

We had now advanced to the edge of the mesa and were looking off to the west. It was a marvelous view in the afternoon light that brought out the strange and symmetrical lines of the desert architecture with startling distinctness.

”There rolls the Colorado and hears no sound save its own rolling,” said Jim, pointing in his most oratorical manner to the southwest.

”You can see the zigzag of it through that plateau,” I cried.

”Yes, and way over there in the south is where it plunges into the mountains,” said Jim. ”Jove! it makes me anxious to reach it. This will be our last picnic till we reach the river, you can count on that.”

”Down, boys, quick!” cried Tom. We dropped into some brush--scrub bushes that grew near the edge of the mesa without waiting to question. Tom's eyes were keen and his vision was to be respected.

”What is it, brother?” inquired Jim, in mock anxiety. ”What dost thou see?”

”See! there is a party of Indians coming out around that b.u.t.te over there,” pointing to the north. Then we saw them all right. There was a large party, we could tell that. Though the distance was so great that they looked like moving specks.

CHAPTER XIV

A NIGHT ON THE MESA

”Do you suppose they saw us?” I asked.

”Hardly,” replied Jim. ”It's all we can do to make them out and they are mounted.”

”It's lucky we stopped off here,” remarked Tom, ”because we would have run into them or at least they would have cut our trail.”