"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 s.p.a.ce.

"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 pa.s.sage 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 spa.r.s.ely 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.

[Ill.u.s.tration: 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. n.o.body had heard him approach, or seen him, until they discovered him standing like a carved statue, coolly regarding Carl.

"h.e.l.lo, 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."