The old Moqui had meanwhile succeeded in getting out the paper which he seemed to set so much store by. Looking up, and seeing that Frank had turned away, he offered it to Bob, who took it gravely, and proceeded to hold it so that the light of the little fire would fall upon the writing.

Frank was half way in the tent when he heard his chum give utterance to a shout. He backed out again, and turning, looked hastily, half expecting to see Bob engaged in a tussle with the old Indian.

Nothing of the sort met his gaze. The Moqui was sitting there, staring at Bob, who had straightened up, and was starting to dance around, holding the paper in his extended hand.

"What ails you, Bob?" demanded the other. "Haven't been taken with a sudden pain, after all that venison you stowed away, I hope."

"Come out here, Frank!" called the lad by the fire. "Of all the luck! to think we'd strike such a piece as this! It's rich! It's the finest ever!

We go to hunt for clues, and here they come straight to us. Talk to me about the favors of fortune, why, we're in it up to the neck!"

"You seem to be tickled about something, Bob; has that paper any connection with it?" demanded Frank.

"Well I should say, yes, by a big jugfull," replied the Kentucky boy.

"And you'll agree with me when I tell you it's signed by Professor Felix Oswald, the very man we're going to search the Grand Canyon up and down to find!"

CHAPTER X

THE COPPER COLORED MESSENGER

"Do you really mean it, Bob?" asked Frank, with the bewildered air of one who suspects a joke.

"Take it yourself, and see," replied the other, holding out the discolored and wrinkled sheet on which the writing was still plainly to be read.

Frank bent over, the better to allow the firelight to fall upon the queer doc.u.ment. This was what he read in a rather crabbed hand, though the writing could be read fairly well:

_"To Whom it May Concern; Greeting!_

"This is to certify to the good character of the bearer, a Moqui Indian by the name of Havasupai, who has rendered me a very great service, which proves him to be the friend of the white man, and a believer in the pursuit of science. I cheerfully recommend him to all who may be in need of a trustworthy and capable guide to the Grand Canyon.

"PROFESSOR OSWALD."

Frank looked up to see the grinning face of his chum thrust close to him.

"Think it's genuine, Frank?" demanded the other.

"I can see no reason why it shouldn't be," answered the other, glancing down again at the crumpled paper he held, and which the old Moqui was regarding with the greatest of pride on his brown face.

"Looks like that paper Mr. Hinchman brought to my dad; yes, I'd stake my word on it, Bob, that the same hand wrote both."

"But how d'ye suppose this greasy old Indian ever got the doc.u.ment?"

asked the young Kentuckian.

"We'll have to put it up to him, and find out," came the reply. "He can speak United States all right; we've found that out already; and so you see, there's no reason under the sun why he shouldn't want to tell us."

He turned to the Moqui. It was not the same sleepy boy apparently who, but a minute before, had started to creep into the comfortable tent, where the blankets lay; but a wide-awake fellow, eager to ascertain under what conditions this fugitive brave could have secured such a letter of recommendation from the man of science, who was supposed to have utterly vanished from the haunts of men without leaving a single trace behind, up to the hour that message came to Colonel Haywood.

Holding the paper up, and shaking it slightly, Frank started to put the Moqui warrior on the rack.

"This belong to you, Havasupai?" he demanded, trying to a.s.sume a stern manner, such as he believed would affect the other more or less, and be apt to bring out straight answers to his leading questions.

"The white boy has said," answered the other, for an Indian seldom answers in a direct way.

"Where did you get it?" Frank continued, slowly, as if feeling his way; for he did not wish to alarm the Indian, knowing how obstinate a Moqui may prove if he once suspects that he is being coaxed into betraying some secret or a friend.

The black, bead-like eyes were on the face of Frank as he put these questions. Doubtless the old Moqui balanced every one well before venturing a reply.

"He gave it," nodding in the direction of the paper Frank held.

"Do you mean the man who signed his name here, Professor Oswald?"

A nod of the head in the affirmative settled that question.

"Was he a small man with a bald head, no hair on top, and wearing gla.s.ses over his eyes, big, staring gla.s.ses?"

Frank aided comprehension by touching the top of his own head when speaking about the loss of hair on the part of the noted scientist; and then made rings with his fingers and thumbs which he clapped to his eyes as though looking through a pair of spectacles.

Evidently the Moqui understood. Reading signs was a part of his early education. In fact it comprised nearly four-fifths of all the Indian knew.

"White boy heap wise; he know that the man give Havasupai talking paper.

Much great man; know all. Tell Havasupai about cliff men. Find much good cook pot, heap more stuff in cave. Find out how cave men live. Write all down in book. Send Havasupai one, promise. It is well!"

"But where did you meet him?" asked Frank; and he saw at once that this was getting very near the danger line, judging from the manner in which the Moqui acted; for he seemed to draw back, just as the alarmed tortoise will hide its head in its sh.e.l.l at the first sign of peril.

"In canyon where picture rocks laugh at sun," the Indian slowly said.

"That ought to stand for the Grand Canyon," remarked the boy.

The keen ears of the Moqui caught the words, although they were almost spoken in whispers, and only intended for Bob.

He nodded violently, and Frank somehow found himself wondering whether, after all, the shrewd Indian might not be wanting to deceive him. He may have conceived the idea that these two white boys were the enemies of the queer old professor; and for that reason would be careful how he betrayed the man who trusted him.

"Listen, Moqui," said Frank, putting on a serious manner, so as to impress the other; "we are the friends of the little-old-man who has no hair on top of his head. We want to see him, talk with him! It means much good to him. He will be glad if you help us find him. Do you understand that?"

The Indian's black eyes roved from one to the other of those bright young faces. Apparently he would be foolish to suspect even for a minute that the two lads could have any evil design in their minds.

Still, the crafty look on his brown face grew more intense.

"He has some good reason for refusing to accommodate us, I'm afraid,"

Bob said just then, as if he too had read the signs of that set countenance.

"Why don't you answer me, Moqui?" Frank insisted, bent on knowing the worst. "We are on the way now to find the man who gave you this letter that talks. We have some good news for him. And you can help us if you will only tell in what part of the Grand Canyon Echo Cave lies."

The Indian seemed to ponder. Evidently his mind worked slowly, when it tried to grapple with secrets. But one thing he knew, and this must be some solemn promise he had made the man of science, never under any conditions to betray his hiding-place to a living soul.

"No can say; in canyon where picture rocks lie; that all," he finally declared, and Frank knew Indians well enough to feel sure that no torture could be painful enough to induce Havasupai to betray one he believed his friend, and whose magic talking paper he carried inside his shirt, to prove his good character.