The unsuspecting fly was crawling on Jim's hand. The horned toad was as quiet as immobile stone. Mr. Fly came along within a few inches of the toad. Then out flashed a little narrow wisp of red tongue and the fly disappeared.

"One strike and in," said Jim, proud of his new pet. "You see he is just about the color of the earth so that he can't be seen; all he has to do is to keep still and his game comes to him."

Then Jim slipped the horned toad into his pocket. The sun had now sunk down behind the distant Sierra. Above it glowed a few gold bars of clouds. In the east was a broad band of blue with a crimson veiling above it.

This pomp always accompanies a desert sunrise or sunset.

"The Indians are going to make camp," Jim announced.

It was true, they had stopped near two hills a couple of miles west of the mesa, where there was a growth of a few stunted trees. The braves slid from their ponies and turned them loose to graze, while the squaws busied themselves gathering wood. The children scampered around free as wild colts and playing as children will whether they are Indian or white.

"There must be a hundred of them anyway," said Tom.

"About the number that had us corraled back in those mountains," I said.

This was the first time that we had seen a family party of Indians and it was an interesting sight.

"It is time we made our own camp," said Jim.

So we backed slowly from the edge of the mesa, keeping under shelter of the brush, until we were far enough away not to be seen, then we stood up and made our way to the deserted village.

"I'm not going to sleep in that house," I declared, "and have a tarantula crawl out and grab me."

"Gee, but you are particular," said Jim, "anyway we can cook our food in one of these houses, so that the Indians down there won't see the smoke."

So we prepared a meal inside of a house for the first time since we had left the captain's cabin on the plateau. If anyone had told us that we were going to have supper in a house on top of a mesa in New Mexico we would have thought they were crazy. But strange things happen in a strange country.

After supper we prepared to turn in or turn out rather, because we were not going to sleep in the house.

"Let's go over to the other side first," said Jim, "and have a look at the Indian camp."

This we did. And it gave us a strange sensation, standing near the edge of the mesa with nothing but the void darkness below us for hundreds of feet.

It was a picturesque sight, to see the Indian fires making little spots of flame out on the plain. Sometimes faint sounds come from their direction borne on the evening wind. Overhead the innumerable stars were shining with sparkling clearness. The night seemed to be filled with the vague whispering of the wind.

As we turned back to the dead village the wind rose; at first it came in gusts and then it blew in steady and ever increasing volume, until it rose to the fierceness of a gale.

Not a cloud was visible, it came from perfect clearness and it seemed to have more power than if it had been accompanied with rolling clouds. The gravel blew across the mesa, cutting our faces.

"Are we going to have a cyclone?" inquired Tom, anxiously, yelling into Jim's ear.

"No!" he yelled back. "This country is too broken. It couldn't get started before it's busted."

"We can't sleep here to-night," declared Tom, "we will be blown away."

By this time we had reached the shelter of the village. It seemed uncannily quiet and dead within its walls.

"We can sleep here in the court yard," I said, "and we will be protected from the wind."

"All right," replied Jim, "it's funny to have the horses inside the houses and we out."

We made a comfortable bed on the ground of the courtyard with brush that we had cut on the outer mesa. Jim made use of his Indian blanket and said that it was all right.

In a short time Jim and Tom were sound asleep and their snoring rivaled the wind, but I could not sleep. I was very restless and I turned and tossed.

Overhead the stars were shining and the wind whistled and roared over the silent roofs around us. I kept listening for every sound. But after awhile I dropped off into a troubled doze. Then I heard a rustling near my ear. It was crawling towards me in the darkness. A tarantula coming straight for my face. I flung out one desperate hand and struck a h.o.r.n.y object. It was Jim's horned toad.

Thoroughly awake I threw off the blankets and stood up looking around.

The wind was still keeping up its furious gait and the sky was clear. I judged it was about midnight.

It was a weird situation with those silent deserted houses all around and the gaping blackness of the doors and windows. I moved cautiously towards the center of the court. Then I stopped short. A long, pale face was in the upper part of a dark door. I saw it with perfect distinctness. Then it moved or rather moved slowly from side to side.

"Coyote, you rascal! What are you looking at!" I exclaimed, in decided relief.

I could not sleep so I sat down on a rude box in the court yard listening to the wind, my rifle across my knees. If ever a place seemed haunted this Pueblo village did at that hour.

CHAPTER XV

THE STRANGE COUNTRY

There is a chill isolation about a high wind in the desert, even though the wind be warm. It seemed to me as I sat there I could hear strange voices in the vacant houses. It was the wind no doubt, but the loneliness of the situation made them authentic.

As I watched in the darkness of the court yard, I saw a grey patch against the opposite wall. My eyes seemed drawn to it, then I saw it move. I scarcely breathed. It stopped for a moment, apparently listening, then it came forward again at a level of two or three feet from the ground.

I raised my rifle to fire, but something held me back. I now made out a dark object, too, behind the grey. It was creeping towards where the boys were sleeping. I tried to yell but my voice was just a squeak.

Just then a night bird swept low into the court, gave a shrill cry, then away over the roofs. Jim sat up wide awake and none too soon, for I saw the object rush forward with one hand upraised to strike.

"Get out of here," Jim's big voice bellowed out.

The old Indian woman, for such it was, shrank down muttering and then slowly retreated backward to the wall.

"Where's Jo?" cried Jim, in alarm.

This released the spell I was under and I got up and came over to where Jim and Tom were.

"What are you doing wandering around, this time of night, Jo?" Jim asked.

"I couldn't sleep and your old horned toad tried to cuddle up to me and I thought it was a tarantula," I replied.

"Gee! but I bet it scared you. What did you do with him?"

"I let out with my hand and sent him flying," I replied.

"I hope you didn't kill him," Jim said. "Then I suppose you decided to sit up for the rest of the night."