"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 finishing 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."

"If they go east of the mesa they will do it anyway," I said, "then what will we do?"

"They would have a sweet time getting up here after us," said Jim.

"But they would starve us out," I said.

"Don't worry, Jo," Jim replied. "If they insist on hanging around we will have to turn farmers and till the soil. You and Tom would make a nice team to pull that plow, being twins; you are well matched, light bays, warranted kind and gentle."

"Any lady could drive, especially Tom," I said.

"I don't believe those fellows will bother us," said Jim, who was watching the Indians closely. Jim never allowed repartee to interfere with business. "You see they are keeping well to the west and in that case they won't see our trail."

"We will have to camp up here to-night," I said.

"Sure," replied Jim, "there is nothing else to do. It won't be long till sunset now and we want daylight for that trail."

"Do you suppose those fellows will try and come up here?" I asked.

"What for?" replied Jim, "they know that there is nothing here and they are not looking for useless exercise."

"Are we going to camp in one of those houses?" I inquired.

"Why not?" said Jim, "you are not afraid of the old lady stealing you, are you?"

"I don't see any use of our going indoors," I replied. "We always sleep in the open and it don't look like rain. At least not this century."

This last observation certainly seemed accurate. Though there were a few rolls of white clouds, floating around over the vast extent of blue sky, they were oases in the desert of its extent. Though along the eastern horizon were delicate veils of purple or grey showers skirting along.

But there seemed no promise of dampness in them.

We lay at ease stretched out in perfect safety watching the Indians as they came into nearer view. It seemed like something more than a hunting party because they had their squaws and papooses with them.

The earth was warm and dry and the sun made us feel comfortable as we basked in it like so many grey lizards. Just then a curious little thing darted right in front of my face. I drew back in alarm. But Jim reached out quickly and clutched it in his hand.

"What is it?" I asked.

"It's nothing but a horned toad," he replied.

"Aren't you afraid that it will poison you?" I inquired.

"No," he replied, "the captain told me that they were perfectly harmless."

"Ugly as sin though," I commented.

It was flat in shape, with its rough skin covered with regular coloring of grey and dark brown. Above the eyes were two little horns and the center edge of its skin had saw-like indentations. Its belly was flat and of a whitish color.

"Now watch him catch this fly," said Jim.