The Boy Scouts of the Air in Indian Land

"Now, scouts," said Mr. Hawke, amused at their excited exclamations, "we'll put this together, and I'll show you the model of the 'Thunder Bird Aeroplane.'"

"Gee whiz!" exploded Fly, who was the first to find his tongue. "What do you know about that, fellows? That's the name of our patrol."

But the other boys were too deeply interested in what Hawke was doing to pay attention to Fly.

The aviator took the parts to the table and began putting them together.

"We'll make this a lesson," he said. "So fire in your questions."

"Well, I'd like to know how much that weighs?" complied Fly at once.

"About thirty pounds."

"Is it all there?" continued Fly.

"All but the engine."

"An' how much does a real one weigh—I mean a big one?" asked Dunk.

"Well, a full-sized machine built after this design would reach a weight of about 1,100 pounds or over, with the load."

"How fast would it go?" asked Herb.

"About forty miles an hour," replied Hawke.

"Whoopee!" cried Jerry. "That's sure goin' some."

"It doesn't seem to go that fast when you're up in the air," explained Hawke. "If you are gliding close to the ground the speed seems terrific, but after you reach the high altitudes you hardly notice that the machine is moving."

"They looked as though they was moving when I saw them at Nassau Boulevard meet," put in Tender Gray. "There was a half dozen of them up in the air at once most of the time."

"All biplanes like this one?" asked Fly, a little proud of his knowledge.

"Monoplanes too. Bleriots, Dumonts, Curtiss, Wrights, all kinds."

"What you fellows talking about?" asked Dunk, who knew little about the subject.

"Well, we mean, did they have two wings or one?" answered Fly, in an offhand tone.

"What's wings?" persisted Dunk, not to be put down.

"Why this is a biplane," explained Fly, with assumed grandness, putting his thumb under his armpit, "'cause it's got two wings, top and bottom—this and this." He pointed to the main planes. "A monoplane has only one wing, the top. And—"

"Stand back and give the professor room," interrupted Dunk, with mock solemnity.

"These wires look awful slim to me," said Jerry, when the general laugh subsided. "You don't go much on 'em, do you?"

"You bet, lots depends on them," answered Mr. Hawke, who was stringing light wires through miniature pulleys on the upper and lower wings. "They may look frail but in the full-sized machine they are the strongest piano wire."

"What do they do?"

"They really take most of the tension, and these struts take what is called the compression stresses. They're made of the lightest tough wood in the world—comes from Canada."

"Wish't I understood all that," said Tender in a rather discouraged tone.

"You can't understand everything in one lesson," put in Fred.

"Yes, that's right. We'll have to start at the beginning and go through," responded the aviator, with a good-natured smile. "But, of course, we haven't time for that to-night. I'm just giving you a general idea."

Carlito had said nothing up to this time, but he had been looking on very carefully, and listening with rapt attention.

"Looks like it would fly just like a bird," he said, when the model was finally completed, and the boys were inspecting it.

"That's just it," cried Jerry, remembering the conversation of the morning, "and we want one to chase the Thunder Bird with."

"The question is, how are we going to get it?" objected Fred, businesslike as usual. "We fellows ain't got enough money."

"Yuh ought to talk to father," said Herb. "He said he'd give anything to get that rascal that's killin' our sheep. Besides," he added, laughing, "I've been digging for an aeroplane for a long time."

"Do you think he'd help us out?" asked Fly eagerly.

"I think a talk with Mr. Hawke would do a powerful lot," responded the southerner. "Cain't you-all come over Sunday afternoon? Dad's going to Santa Rita to-morrow morning to be gone till then."

"Yes, please go over and tell him what the aeroplane could do," urged Fly, anxious to realize the dream which seemed almost too good to be true.

"Sure, won't you, Mr. Hawke," chimed in Jerry.

"All of you fellows come, cain't yuh?" asked Herb.

There was a rapid fire of affirmatives.

"How about yuh, Mr. Hawke?" persisted the rancher.

"Why, of course. I'll be glad to take a ride over with the boys and meet your father."

"All right, then, that's settled, and now it's time for us guys to go. Tender and I have to ride to the B. P. yet. Good night, Mr. Hawke. If it wasn't so late we'd sure like to give yuh three cheers."

"Instead, I'll shake hands with you all," responded the aviator, as they filed past him at the door. "And remember, I'm yours for the medals and the Thunder Bird hunt. And—if we can get it—the finest aeroplane that's been made yet."

AT THE B. P. RANCH

Although the sun was hot when the boys and Mr. Hawke started for the ride to Phipps' ranch the following Sunday afternoon, the air seemed cooled by an almost imperceptible breeze. It had rained the night before, and while the road was quite dry, there was less dust than usual. On one hand stretched the refreshed green pastures, spotted with many-hued wild flowers, making a gorgeous pattern of color. On the other hand were the towering mountains, their snow-capped peaks in marked contrast with the thick foliage of the forest which climbed halfway up their rugged slopes. Rising above the timber line were bare gorges of rock. Below lay the irregular foothills, thickly covered with cedars, pines and firs.

But despite the compelling beauties of nature, which Hawke and Fred were enjoying in silent admiration, it was not long before the others, more accustomed to the sight which charmed the new-comers, began talking of the thing which they had all probably dreamed of the night before.

"Say, Mr. Hawke," queried Jerry, who had been turning the matter over in his mind, "if Herb's dad'll stand for that aeroplane, how long'll it take to get it?"

"If Mr. Phipps should make such a decision as that," replied Mr. Hawke, who really had some doubt that he would, "we'll have it done in two weeks."

"We'll have it done?" echoed Fred. "What do you mean by that?"

"Why, I mean that I want you boys to help me build it," replied the aviator coolly, watching out of the corner of his twinkling eyes for the effect his words would have on the boys.

"What's that?" cried the astonished Dunk, unconsciously digging his heels into his pony, which reared, and started off at a brisk canter.

Mr. Hawke smiled broadly. He was growing more and more fond of the enthusiastic and manly Fort Bayard boys, and was especially amused at Dunk's frank expressions.

After going a few rods, the latter got control of his horse and slowed the animal down for the rest of the party to catch up.

"Do you really mean that?" asked Fly with flashing eyes, when they were all riding quietly again.

"Why not? We can get the material here in a week or less. Then we can probably find a machine shop around here to work in, and, when we need it, build a hangar of our own."

"Gee, that sounds bully," exclaimed Jerry.

"You can use our place," volunteered Fly. "We've got all kinds of tools, a bellows and most everything you'd need, I guess."

"An aeroplane could almost be built in a carpenter shop," replied Mr. Hawke. "There's very little metal on them. Mostly good strong spruce, bamboo and well-seasoned woods of different kinds."

"What a chance that would be," reflected Fly, more to himself than anybody in the party. "But, what if it shouldn't be a bird after all?" he asked suddenly, his face growing grave and anxious. "Then we wouldn't need an aeroplane and everything would go to smash."

Instantly a cloud seemed to fall over the faces of all the boys, as they looked instinctively at Mr. Hawke. The latter found the sudden change in affairs too much for his humorous vein, and with a hearty laugh he dispelled the gloom as quickly as it had gathered.

"We'll cross that bridge when we come to it," he said, finally regaining composure.

"Give Fly a good punch, Dunk," exclaimed Jerry. "You're next to him."

"There ain't no use in you givin' us all cold feet like that, Fly," admonished Dunk, by way of complying with Jerry's request.

"Oh, it just seems too good to be true," defended Fly. "I think I must be moving in a pipe dream."

"Leave it to Mr. Hawke," assured Fred.

"By the way," said the aviator genially; "Hawke is good enough for me. Cut out the Mister."

"All right, Hawke," returned Fly, with a strong accent on the name.

The path turned to the left at that point, and took them through a rather scant growth of pine trees. The boys welcomed this meager shade, which was the first cool spot they had reached since leaving the Fort. They stopped under the trees for a few minutes, and turned aside from the main road while a large freight wagon, loaded several feet above its top and covered with canvas, passed, drawn by six strong horses. It was followed by a smaller two-horse wagon. Both of the drivers were Greasers.

"What you got on there," yelled Dunk mischievously.

The Mexicans replied with a curious glance, and one of them gave the usual, "No sabe!"

After wiping their perspiring faces with their handkerchiefs, the boys and Hawke pulled out from under the trees and rode out into the sun again. It was not an unusually warm day for New Mexico, but warm enough to give them some discomfort.

"We might go out of our way a little and get a drink at the river over here," suggested Dunk.

"We'll have something better'n that to drink when we get to Phipps' I bet," answered Jerry scornfully. "He always treats us great whenever we go over there—and besides, we got company to-day."

"I don't want to say nothin'," interjected Fly, who had been thinking on the subject since his last remark. "But I do hope it is a bird."

"Say, you joy-killer, you calamity howler, cut that out, will you?" Jerry pulled his pony over and gave Fly a jab in the ribs. "If you don't quit, this will turn into a funeral procession. I'm gettin' cold feet already."

At that moment Carlito, who had been riding silently a little in advance of the others, spurred up his pony, and with a hasty "I think I see something," dashed on ahead.

After a moment of surprise and hesitation, the others galloped after him. Carlito did not go far, however, but before he stopped the others saw what he was after. When he pulled up, four or five chattering magpies flew complainingly from the ground, where they had been feeding on a dead lamb.

Carl slipped off his pony and the others followed his example. The party gathered around the Indian, who was stooping over the animal and examining it closely. It was frightfully torn under the belly and its back was broken.

"There's been somethin' doin' in the sheep stealin' line again," said Jerry. "What do you think about it, Carl?"

"It's so badly smashed up I can't tell much, but it does look to me as if there were marks of claws—large claws," answered the Indian finally. "But I can't tell for sure."

"This must be one of the B. P. herd," conjectured Dunk.

"Does it look like some bird had him?" asked Fly, eager to settle the doubt which had arisen.

"It looks like talons, all right. But I can't say positive. He's too riddled. I'll look around."

Carl separated himself from the circle and patrolled the ground round about.

"If there was any tracks the rain last night washed them away," he said finally, satisfied that nothing could be learned by further search.

"There could be no tracks of a bird, could there?" asked Hawke.

"If it's a big one, sometimes there's the sweep of the wings when they bear down on something."

"Well, let's ride on and see what Mr. Phipps has to say about it," suggested Dunk, after they had thoroughly inspected the animal a second time.

It was a hot, dusty and rather excited party that greeted Herb half an hour later at the B. P. corral.

"Lost any sheep last night?" asked Fly, as soon as the few words of greeting had been said.

"Half a dozen of 'em," replied the rancher's son. "Dad's mad as all get out. Says he's goin' to watch every night, and when that thing comes again he's goin' to blow it to kingdom come."

"Well, we saw one sheep down the road," informed Dunk, "all cut to pieces."

"A nice little lamb too," said Fred regretfully.

"Shouldn't be surprised. We found a couple, and they sure was done for. Now's the time for us to hit dad hard for that aeroplane."

"Glad to know yuh; come right up," was Mr. Phipps' cordial greeting as he came halfway down the veranda step to meet the aviator and welcome the boys. His cool, spotless linen suit was quite a contrast to the somewhat grimy appearance of the visitors.

"We're pretty warm after that ride," apologized Hawke, mopping his forehead with his handkerchief.

"Mebbe yuh'd like to go inside and wash up," suggested Mr. Phipps amiably, and his invitation was heartily accepted by all the party. "Herb, show them around," commanded the rancher, and his son readily complied.

The ranch-house, which Mr. Phipps had built himself, was a duplicate of the old homestead in Texas. The roominess which the large, square exterior suggested was carried out in the great, wide rooms and high ceilings within. The spacious halls and stairways reminded one more of a magnificent southern home than of a New Mexico ranch-house. Oriental rugs in delicate shadings covered the highly polished floors, and the massive mahogany furniture and tasteful hangings gave the whole an appearance of elegance and refinement such as sheepmen are not reputed to have.

"This is one of my venerable ancestors," said Herb, when the party filed downstairs, refreshed. "Yuh see, father's folks was French. This fellow is General Dupont, and fought some good fights in the Franco-Prussian war. They say he never would have been killed, born under a lucky star like Napoleon—only he lingered too long with a wounded comrade at the siege of Paris."

"And this lady?" asked Hawke, pointing to a large portrait of a slim, dark beauty, dressed in white, and wearing a cluster of yellow roses at her waist line.

"That's my mother." Herb lowered his voice a little as he answered. "She died when I was a little tad, yuh know."

"A very beautiful woman," said Mr. Hawke, quickly passing on to spare Herb's feelings. "And this man looks like your father."

"That was painted a long time ago," said Herb.

"It looks like you now," put in Jerry, who had been inspecting the same painting, while the other boys walked up and down the halls and made an interested examination of the many large oils which lined the walls.

"This is father's sister, who used to keep house for us. She died a few years ago. Then we got Hop Sing."

There was, then, Hawke reflected, no woman in this immaculately-kept house, where there seemed to be so many evidences of the feminine touch. The rough rancher, it seemed, had that strain of tenderness so often found in outwardly brusque men, which expressed itself in his home.

"This is just the way the house down South looked when mother died," said Herb, as if in answer to the visitor's thoughts. "Dad never wants anything changed. Even her room is the same, and no one ever sleeps in it. One night we had so many visitors we thought we'd have to use it or be rude, but father slept in the herder's cottage instead. You'll always find a bunch of yellow tea roses in her room—she was very fond of them, and father grows them himself in the greenhouse."

Herb shook his head back with a sudden jerk, as though shaking off a painful twinge, and passed on to some relics which were hung in the next room.

"This is General Dupont's sword, and a medal which Napoleon gave him for his services."

After a few minutes they all returned to the veranda, where they found Mr. Phipps mixing some purple colored stuff in a huge punch bowl. The clink of the ice was an agreeable sound, for they were all thirsty.

"This is my own grape juice punch," said Mr. Phipps, as he filled glasses for the Chinaman to pass around. "My scheme is to have Sing make it, and set it out here. Then when the guests appear I am stirring it industriously, as though it were my own job."

Sitting in the shade of the vine-covered veranda, and sipping the iced punch, it was not long before Mr. Hawke and the boys were thoroughly refreshed and rested. The aviator felt entirely at home with the hospitable rancher, and they chatted like old friends. Hawke noticed that besides holding vases of flowers, the tables were stacked with the latest magazines and popular books. He caught sight of a New York newspaper, and some from other parts of the country. There were hanging baskets suspended from the roof of the veranda, and the whole scene was restful and quiet, and even luxuriously comfortable.

WINNING AN AEROPLANE

"Well, I see that the boys have got you into this sheep stealing mystery," began Mr. Phipps, when the glasses had been taken away. "Another bunch of my sheep killed or ruined last night. It beats the world what's happening to 'em."

"Fly said they found one of them lying down the road," said Herb.

"I looked him all over," spoke up Carlito, "and it looked to me like something with big claws had been at him, but he was in such shape that you couldn't tell for sure. Then there were a lot of magpies feeding on him when I rode up and the claw marks might have been those of some bird that had alighted on him after he was dead."

"Well, this thing has got to be stopped someway, somehow." Mr. Phipps spoke with an emphasis that meant business. "Herb and I have been talking it over all morning. He says yuh had an idea, Mr. Hawke, we might chase the thing, whatever it is, with an aeroplane."

"I suggested that to the boys on the assumption that it was a bird," replied Mr. Hawke, noticing, with a twinkle in his eye, that the boys were moving their chairs closer and listening with tense interest.

"We're sure it's a bird," chimed in the enthusiastic Fly. "We were hit by it ourselves coming from Silver City—and that rancher was picked up by it. What else could it be? You never see tracks."

"It must be something that flies, anyway," argued Dunk. "Everything shows that."

"But how could you get around flying after it at night," objected Mr. Phipps. "It never seems to come around in daytime."

"Oh, Mr. Hawke can fix that," exclaimed Herb confidently.

"With an equipment of acetylene lamps," assented Mr. Hawke. "They would give all the light we would need."

"But you would probably have to shoot at him," protested Mr. Phipps. "I don't see how that could be done."

"Carl's the best shot there ever was," assured Jerry. "He can shoot anything. Even in the dark."

Mr. Phipps and the aviator smiled broadly at this.

"I should think if it were a bird," said the latter, leaning back in his chair, "the thing would be to chase it to its haunt and trap it."

"That's not a bad idea," agreed Mr. Phipps. "With an aeroplane you could follow it at its own speed."

"Of course, Mr. Phipps, an aeroplane would not be an inexpensive proposition, and I do not say it would positively do the work, but the boys are very much interested in aviation and I suggested that they might help me build a biplane here which we could use in clearing up this trouble."

"You mean, let us help in building it?" Herb leaned forward in his chair while Tender Gray's eyes grew large with excitement.

"That was my thought."

"Dad, that'd be great," exclaimed Herb, his dark cheeks flooding with deep-hued red. "Let's do it! You said I could have an aeroplane sometime, anyway."

"I didn't expect to be taken so seriously," laughed Mr. Phipps good-naturedly, though there was no finality in his tone.

During this conversation the boys had been suppressing their anxiety with difficulty. Their eager, impulsive faces changed with every new argument put forth, according to its effect on their project. Only Carlito, the Indian, sat impassive and solemn. But he was paying strict attention to all that was said.

"Hawke ain't talking hard enough," protested Fred in an undertone to Jerry. But Jerry gave him a kick and his lips formed the admonition "keep still."

"How much would the thing cost?" asked Mr. Phipps. Dunk gave Fly a punch with his elbow and Fred hitched his chair closer.

"About a fourth the cost of a factory-built machine," answered Hawke. "You see, I can buy the material at first cost. With the help of the boys it can be built at the fort and I have an engine of my own which I can furnish. Altogether, eight hundred dollars would see us through."

"Eight hundred dollars, eh?" Mr. Phipps seemed to be turning the matter over in his mind.

"But you've lost a thousand dollars' worth of sheep already," urged Herb, feeling that this was the time to press his strongest arguments. "If it keeps on we won't have any sheep left. Besides, you know that the ponies got frightened a little while ago and broke down part of the corral. What if they'd all get out and run away? They're worth two thousand dollars themselves. And gee whiz, Dad, think of what I'd learn in helping to build an aeroplane. Just what I want."

Tender Gray gave Herb's arm a squeeze while the other boys regarded him with grateful eyes.

"How long would it take to get this material?" asked Mr. Phipps, seeming to disregard his son's remarks.

"About a week. I can get most of the stuff from Kansas City. The northern spruce comes from Denver. I'd have to order the bamboo from a New York house. My engine is at Fort Omaha."

"I suppose you would teach the boys how to run the machine," queried the rancher, who appeared to have reached his decision and merely wished further assurance.

"Oh, certainly, that is part of the plan," responded the aviator.

"Well then, go ahead and get things together as soon as you can. But I guess a government aviator knows his business." Extending his cigar case to Mr. Hawke, the southerner prepared for a leisurely smoke, as if, having settled the question, he would worry no more about it. Mr. Hawke settled back into the depths of his large wicker chair and lighted his cigar.

The boys, however, did not take the matter so calmly. They broke into excited yells of delight. Herb and Tender Gray did something like an Indian war dance on the front steps. Fred was pummelling Jerry with a will, and Dunk and Fly stood talking with bright eager faces, making gestures with their hands and arms. The Indian, though he smiled with satisfaction, sat quietly and looked on.

"Gee, Dad, you're a brick," exclaimed Herb, slapping his father affectionately on the back.

"I like the enthusiasm of these boys," Hawke told Mr. Phipps, when Herb had joined his companions. "In all my experience I never came across a more promising bunch. There isn't a dullard in the lot."

"To tell you the truth," answered the rancher, after a long drag at his Havana, and regarding with kindly eyes the group at the end of the veranda, "the idea of showing them how to build the machine appeals to me about as much as the bird—or man—hunt, although that is an important factor of course. And I hope you may be able to land the thief, whoever or whatever it is."

"Say, boys," he added, in a louder tone, "you'd better all stay for dinner to-night, and we'll have a little moonlight party on the veranda here—how about it, Mr. Hawke?"

"Sure—you'll stay, won't you, Hawke?" queried Jerry, while all the others nodded their ready assent to the rancher's proposal. Hawke was easily induced to fall in with the scheme.

"And by the way," continued Mr. Phipps, "why don't you take Hawke for a scouting expedition up in the mountains to-morrow, while you're waiting for your uniforms and the material?"

"We'd just been talking about that," assented Fly. "We thought mebbe we'd find the place where the bird lives."

Mr. Phipps and the aviator smiled at this naïve response.

"Carlito can take you," said the southerner, "and Herb wants to try out a new gun he has. Suit you, Mr. Hawke?"

"I'm here on a vacation," responded the aviator. "And anything like that sounds good to me."

After a while the boys grew more calm, and the party on the veranda settled down to the quiet of the waning afternoon. Mr. Hawke and the southerner found topics of conversation in politics, aeronautics and affairs of the day. The boys separated into groups of two, some reading or glancing over the illustrated magazines, others talking in low voices, flipping penknives or whittling. At last the sun sank in a bed of red, gold and purple behind the tallest mountain peak, lighting up its snowy whiteness with vivid crimson and yellow, and deluging the sky with beautifully mingled colors, which gradually trailed off at each side into faint lavender.

"This is the country for sunsets," said Mr. Phipps, as they sat watching the beautiful scene. "No king ever wore a more glorious crown than nature places on that old mountain's brow every evening, shining with colors as brilliant as the finest gems ever mined."

When the last soft light had dwindled, twilight quietly settled over the scene, and the stars, like faint sparks of the sun's final salute, gradually came out clearer against the growing darkness.

It seemed like an interruption when Hop Sing announced dinner, but his voice broke the spell, and the boys resumed their noisy chatter as they filed into the house.

"This is Thunder Bird roast lamb," announced Mr. Phipps, as he whetted the carving knife. "The poor animal escaped the ravages of the destroyer only to be seized by the cruel headsman and quartered for my pleasure."

The party had seated itself, with some commotion, around the great round table. The spacious dining room was softly lighted with shaded lamps. The snowy table cloth, shining glasses and silver, and a huge bunch of white carnations made the tempting viands look even more appetizing. There was no formality about the service. Mr. Phipps knew the capacity of growing boys, and saw that they were helped to liberal quantities of everything. Hop Sing was kept busy hopping from one side of the table to the other. The young fellows were entirely at their ease, and did not hesitate to ask for whatever they wanted, and as much as they desired.

"Hop Sing is some fine cook," said Fly, as the Chinaman good-naturedly passed him his third helping of mashed potatoes.

The celestial grinned. "Melican show me," he said, pointing to the rancher.

"Whoopee, what'll Hop say when he sees our aeroplane!" exclaimed Jerry, and all the boys joined in the laugh that followed.

"He'll want to go to a Chinese heaven in a chop suey bowl sure," said Herb. "He scrapes in front of his idol whenever he sees an automobile, which isn't often in these parts."

The subject being thus introduced, considerable talk about the new aeroplane ensued, and when, happy and satisfied, they all returned to the veranda, they found Sing putting up the last Japanese lantern.

"Give us some coon songs, Dad," asked Herb, and instantly there was a clamor from all directions.

"No—I don't do that any more," objected Mr. Phipps, but his misgivings were overruled when Herb appeared with a banjo and guitar.

"Come on, let's give 'em 'Drag the Chariot,'" coaxed his son, strumming on the guitar.

The boys, with Hawke, had gathered around the rancher and Herb expectantly.

"What's this yuh got me into, yuh young scalawag," exclaimed Mr. Phipps, with mock anger, but he took the banjo and struck up a lively tune.

One song was followed by another, until the whole bunch of boys, unable to sit still under the enchanting strains, had risen to their feet and were performing jigs of one style or another. It was soon noticed that Fred had some skill in this direction, and he was urged to jig "Turkey in the Straw," and numerous other dances, until he sank down panting for breath.

In the midst of their festivities there was a series of sharp barks in the direction of the corral, and then a regular din of neighs from the horses, violent barking from the dogs, and an occasional bleat.

Mr. Phipps threw his banjo aside and quickly ran down the steps in the direction of the corral. The others followed him. They found the horses greatly excited, running pell-mell around the enclosure, almost pushing each other over, and some of them trying to climb up on the fence. The dogs were baying, and running about in a confused fashion. Three sheep had apparently strayed from the herd and were standing by the side of the corral.

"It's that confounded thing again," exclaimed Mr. Phipps, calling to the horses to quiet them, while Herb went inside and endeavored to calm them. After a time the dogs, remembering their offices, got after the sheep and drove them back to the fold.

"Doesn't look as though there's any damage done, but you'd better get Mike to go down and look over the sheep."

As Herb went off on this errand, the others returned to the house.

"Bothering the horses too," said Hawke, when they had seated themselves. "That looks bad."

"Must have been chasin' those three sheep," Mr. Phipps conjectured.

"I looked around, but couldn't see a sign of anything," said Carl.

When Herb came back, he said he had gone down to the sheepfold but, as far as he could see, there was no further damage there.

After a little further conversation, Carlito and Herb went after the ponies and led them up to the veranda. Somewhat subdued in spirit, and a little disturbed, the party started off through the moonlight for the Fort, after bidding a cordial good night to the hospitable rancher, his son and Tender Gray.

"Hurry along with that aeroplane, boys," Mr. Phipps called after them, and the boys cheered and waved their sombreros in reply.

IN THE MOUNTAINS

Early next morning Carlito was waiting for them at an appointed place with an Indian pack pony. By seven o'clock all the party had assembled, including Fly, who had succeeded in begging off from work. Each of the boys had a stock of provisions, a coat as a preparation for the cold of higher altitudes, fishing tackle, lines and rods, all of which Carlito strapped on the back and sides of the pony. Each of the boys and Hawke wore a cartridge belt and carried a stout stick to aid in climbing. Herb had a brand new service revolver. Fred, Jerry and Hawke carried guns, Carl carried a bow and arrow, while the others brought rifles. Fred had a camera and Jerry a field glass.

After an hour's tramp they reached the mountains. Lower down the slopes the ascent was easy. Patches had been worn by the feet of many travelers, here and there stepping stones had been roughly cut, no telling how many generations ago, and other rude steps had been formed by piling comparatively symmetrical stones upon each other. There were numbers of deserted cliff dwellings along the ledges, tucked in under overhanging rocks, and, higher up, perched in perilous spots over deep ravines and rushing torrents. The largest part of the snow had melted by this time, and the mountain streams were swollen to their utmost. Farther down, their descent was not so remarkable, but before the day was over, the party stood awestruck on the side of many a rocky cliff and looked below at foaming, seething waters, dashing down the rocky ways.

They had not gone far when they came across a group of Indians, of which Tommy was one, squatting on the ground, gambling. There were two squaws in the group, and they, like the men, were smoking. They were playing the stave game, Carl explained, and sat, with stolid faces, throwing their sticks in turn. Occasionally they would allow themselves a grunt of approval or displeasure, as their luck prompted.

"How's it going?" Carlito asked Tommy, in Mexican.

The Indian shook his head in reply, while one of the others grinned.

After watching them awhile, Carlito, followed by the others, started on.

This was practically Fred's first mountain journey, and he was very much worked up over the event. The cliff dwellings interested him exceedingly, and he wanted to explore them all, no matter how dangerous their approach. He had the eastern boy's desire for relics and kodak pictures, and in a short while his pockets were half filled with stones and other things picked up along the way.

"Gee, I wish we could get into that one," he said, pointing to a particularly lofty cliff dwelling, separated from them by a somewhat narrow, but deep ravine, and almost hidden by a great projecting rock and overgrown poplars. But when he worked nearer to the edge, and saw the rushing water below, and the sharp, jagged rocks that lined the ravine, he was dissuaded from the idea and satisfied himself by taking a picture of it.

"A little farther up there's a dandy place to fish," said Carl. "The water runs easy for quite a ways, and there's lots of trout waiting to be caught."

"Head for that," commanded Fly, scrambling over a cactus bush which he had not noticed. "Ow, wow!" he yelled, as some of the sharp thorns grazed his palm.

"Bring down one of those turkeys," said Jerry to Dunk, as a flock of wild turkeys flew over their heads.

None of the boys claimed to be expert marksmen, but they soon found that Hawke deserved that distinction. He succeeded in bringing down one of the flock Jerry had referred to, though it was flying at a good height. It was nothing more than the boys naturally expected; in fact, they would have been disappointed if he had not proved himself excellent in everything.

"There's just nothin' he can't do," Dunk had said, and in this all the boys heartily agreed.

"Don't shoot too much before dinner," warned Carl, as though he feared they might clean out all the game. "We don't want to do much of that till afternoon. Too heavy to carry."

"Oh, I guess we won't have much of a load," responded Fred, who had made three unsuccessful attempts.

"I guess I don't know how to handle this new gun," was Herb's excuse, when he failed to bag his game.

By ten o'clock they had reached the point in the river which Carl advised was good fishing territory.

"We'll fish till noon," announced Tender Gray, "and then cook 'em."

"Yum, yum," came from several of the boys, who knew what a camp-baked mountain trout was. "I'm hungry already," said Fly.

"Where's your line, Carl?" asked Fred, when all but the Indian had sat down and cast their bait.

"I never use one." The Indian was standing with his bow and arrow, looking intently into the water.

"Just watch him," whispered Jerry.

After that there was little talking. Perhaps there was a little unspoken competition among the boys for the first catch. Now and then a trout came up for air, but for a while they seemed to be running the gauntlet of lines successfully.

Dunk's line caught on some floating weed, which he pulled out with a "shucks" of disappointment.

Finally there was a whirr and a splash, and Carl's arrow flashed into the water. When he dragged it to shore with his bow there was a fine big trout attached to it, speared through the head.

Fred and Hawke watched him with interest, but none of the others paid much attention. They had frequently seen him catch fish in this way.

"Hullo, there, Windy, what's dragging your line?" yelled Dunk.

Fred had been so busy watching Carl that he hadn't noticed his shaking line.

"More weed," said Dunk good-humoredly. But Fred fooled him by landing a fine trout.

Contrary to the expectations of most of the boys, Hawke did not make any particular mark as a fisherman. He caught but one fish, and that smaller than the others.

"Guess my luck is going against me," he said, and the boys were very ready to believe it ill fortune instead of lack of ability.

They had been fishing about an hour and a half, when a loud call from Carl attracted their attention. The Indian had been scouring the ground for evidence of game, and had probably found something.

"Come here, fellows," he shouted, "you've got enough fish for dinner."

They all came running over, and examined a freshly dug hole he had found.

"Now, Boy Scouts, what's that?" asked Hawke, his eyes twinkling.

Tender Gray studied it seriously for a few minutes, and then announced:

"Looks like a shepherd dog might have done it."

"I don't know much about wild animal prints," said Fred, "but I suppose it was a bear."

"That's a grizzly's trick," said Carl. "He's been digging a root for his breakfast."

"A grizzly," gasped Tender Gray.

"Do you think you could get him?" exclaimed Fly.

"If I can find his hole," said Carl.

"But how do you know he is there?" asked Herb.

"We'll follow these prints."

The boys and Hawke walked along beside Carl as he pointed out the footprints of the grizzly. Then he stopped.

"See this little trail where the dirt has been dragged along?" asked Carl. "Well, that shows he was dragging something in his mouth, and he's probably gone home to eat it. The marks are fresh, so it wasn't long ago."

"Wouldn't it be a prize to have a grizzly!" exclaimed Fred.

"You fellows had better wait here for a few minutes, till I see if I can find his hole," instructed the Indian. "If I can find that, we're sure of getting him or of him getting us."

"Suppose he gets after you, Carl. Better fire a signal," said Fly anxiously.

"He can't fire with his bow and arrow, bone-head," gibed Herb.

"I'll just shout," said Carl. "But I can get around him all right.

"I hope Carl don't kill him before we get a chance," said Fred, when the Indian was out of sight.

"He won't unless he has to," said Jerry. "He's a mighty square fellow."

"Wouldn't mother have a fit if I should bring back a bear. And the scouts in Cleveland!" Fred's bright eyes shone with the prospect. In imagination he had already laid the grizzly low.

Carl finally came back with the news that he had found the cave.

"Now you just follow me—and don't make any noise. I'm going to walk way around and come up behind the cave—you follow. Keep still."

The Indian started off like a stealthy panther, scarcely moving a leaf or twig. He leapt with the agility of a cat over rocks that lay in his path, and was obliged to pause now and then for the rest of the party to catch up, as they had considerable more difficulty. The low branches were inclined to swish as they passed, and it was not an easy matter to avoid crackling dry leaves and twigs underfoot. They fell and scrambled over rocks, and unlucky Fly got into another bunch of cactus.

Finally they came to an open space, and Carl pointed to a formation of rock.

"In front of that is a hole," he whispered. "That's where the grizzly is. Crawl up on top of the rock, over the hole, and get your guns ready. Aim just as soon as you get a chance at him."

The boys, though they were stout-hearted fellows, followed nervously. Hawke had trailed and shot grizzlies before, and, though his sporting blood was aroused, he was willing to stand aside and let the boys try for the game. All of the other boys, except Fred and Tender, had previously been close to live grizzlies, but only Carl had actually trailed one.

The rock was large enough for all to climb upon, squat down and hold their guns. Not one of the boys was at all afraid, yet the excitement made their hearts beat fast, and in their eagerness to succeed, they held their guns with rather unsteady hands.

Carl leaned over the edge of the rock, and deliberately yelled into the mouth of the cave. There was a low growl as he sprang back, but, after waiting several minutes, no grizzly appeared.

The Indian boy then took a coat which he had brought along, and dropped it down in front of the grizzly's hole.

There was another growl, stronger than the first. And then another. It is difficult to describe the feelings of the boys as they sat there, almost on top of a real grizzly, and a live one at that. Yet they dared not speak, and could only sit still, everyone at high tension, until something, they scarcely dared think what, happened. They felt a measure of safety, however, with Carl and Hawke along.

Finally the grizzly came out and sat down on the coat, looking around. Then he raised himself on his haunches, and smelt the air. Just as he caught sight of the boys, Carl whispered as loudly as he could—

"Now!"

Two guns boomed—Herb's and Fred's. The big animal rolled over with a furious growl, and lay kicking for a second. Then he regained his feet, and, his teeth and red gums showing, was about to make a spring at the party on the rocks. Jerry could not suppress a shriek, and Fly was too excited to do anything but cling to Dunk. Hawke, however, was quick enough for the animal. He let him have it just before Carl's arrow wedged itself in the animal's forehead.

This time the grizzly rolled over for good, and gave very few parting kicks.

Carl sprang down from his point of vantage, and gave the bear a violent push with his foot, almost rolling him over on his back.

The blood was flowing freely from the wounds, while the grizzly's open mouth filled with froth and blood, and his glazed eyes told plainly that he had dug his last root.

"Is he sure dead?" asked Fly, who with Jerry and Dunk, had remained on the rock for safety.

"Did you ever see a live grizzly act like that?" returned Herb, poking the animal in the side to show that he, at least, was not afraid.

At this show of bravery all the boys came nearer.

"Well, let's carry him to camp," ordered Carl, and, under his direction, the boys found two stout sticks which they run through the bear's feet, one through the fore and one through the hind feet where Carl had made slits. When they got him back to their camp they strapped him on the pony and prepared for dinner.

THE STORM

"Gee, I could eat bear meat raw," exclaimed Fly. "Fur and all."

"Well, get busy, put on this grub," ordered Jerry.

Hawke made himself one of the boys, put on the wooden plates, helped clean the fish, and broiled two of them.

The Indian had made a good fire of twigs which he had gathered, and had buried some of the fish underneath in the sand, to bake, throwing potatoes into the fire to roast.

"Look, fellows, mother put in a homemade cake," announced Jerry, setting a tempting chocolate-covered cake on the papers which served as a table cloth.

"Doughnuts and pickles," announced Fly, filling some wooden plates.

"Wow, chili sauce—hot—for baked fish."

"Con carni for anybody that wants it—I don't," put in Herb.

"Bread," "Sandwiches," "Olives," and so on each boy announced gayly as his contribution to the feast, and, when they finally sat down in a circle, they proved their keen appetites by the way things disappeared.

There was not much conversation during the meal. They were all too hungry to talk.

"What's the use of hunting any more, fellows?" said Dunk, at last, when there was some show of abatement on the part of the diners. "We can't do much better'n a grizzly."

"What if we should get a deer," encouraged Tender Gray. "I saw some prints around here."

"Suppose you know as much about deer prints as bear prints," teased Herb, remembering Tender's mistake.

"I guess those were our pony's prints," said Fly, helping Herb along.

There was a general laugh, which Tender took in good part. "Well, I ain't been a scout very long," he apologized.

"We're hunting for a thunder bird, too, you must remember," reminded Dunk. "Wish't some of you could read tracks in the air."

"Let's look around and see which way we're goin' this afternoon," suggested Jerry, producing his spyglass.

"There's pretty thick timber in that direction," said Carl, as Jerry pointed east.

All the boys had a turn at the glass. "That's a funny looking rock up there," said Fred, looking westward. "Looks like a cliff dwelling."

"You've got cliff dwellin's on the brain," remarked Fly. "That's nothin' but a rock."

"You look and see. If that ain't windows in there I'm a fish." Fred handed Fly the spyglass.

"Well, it does look kind of queer," admitted Fly. "You look, Hawke."

"Looks to me like a tower," announced the aviator, when he had studied the spot for some time.

"Like a square tower with windows!" prompted Fred, glad to have his suspicions confirmed.

"I guess that's one of these lookout towers," said Carl, when he inspected it. "Pretty high up, though."

"Let's go up that way," suggested Herb. "Might as well as any other. Looks easier to climb, too."

"I'd like to get a picture of it to take home too," said Fred, whereupon Jerry grabbed his hat, and gave him a tussle for it.

"Don't you want one of the windows for a souvenir," joked the Southerner. "Gee, I wish I'd gone into the souvenir business before you came. I'd gotten rich off of you."

It was finally decided, however, to follow the direction Fred had chosen, principally because it seemed to be less thickly timbered.

It was a problem what to do with the pony. He would stand without tethering, but he might be bothered by wild animals.

Carl, however, soon solved the problem by clearing the ground for several feet around him, and then, gathering twigs and sticks, piled them around the pony in a wide circle. He then set fire to them, and, after they had a good start, smothered the flames carefully so they emitted a thin line of smoke.

"I think that'll keep most animals away," he said, as they started for the climb.

"It wouldn't take us long to get up there if we had our aeroplane," said Fly. "Would it, Hawke?"

"It won't be many moons before we have it now," responded the aviator. "I've ordered all the supplies, and I telegraphed to New York this morning so they'd make an extra special rush on that bamboo."

"How many will it carry?" asked Jerry. "Can we all go?"

"I'm figuring on using a special patent of my own," said Hawke. "I have a certain device which I have worked out which will so equalize the balance that I believe I can carry six in safety. Ordinarily, three is about the limit."

"Gee, I'm glad of that," put in Herb. "I'd like to have all the fellows on."

"You'll all have plenty of it, turn about," said Hawke. "Besides, I'm not saying anything, but I believe, when I get to work on the thing, I can fix it so we can take more. But I don't want to hold out any false hopes."

"Do you think we can build it in two weeks?" asked Jerry. "That seems pretty good for amateurs."

"Not for such energetic young fellows as you," responded Hawke, smiling. "And there's enough of us, if we all work hard."

"I'll work hard, all right—we all will," exclaimed Tender Gray.

"You bet," chimed in Dunk.

They had come to a rather difficult climbing place, and had to depend a good deal on their sticks as boosters. By catching hold of shrubs and pushing one another, they finally gained the top of a rather high point, with almost perpendicular ascent.

They found themselves almost on the edge of a cataract, which they had heard roaring for some time. The foaming water was rushing down in great cascades, sending up white spray as fine as steam.

"Let's see that thing now," said Fred, borrowing Jerry's glass.

"If that's a rock I'll eat it," he added.

Hawke also made another examination, and said as before that it looked like a cliff dwelling or tower.

"It's quite a ways up there yet," he said. "We'd better get a move on us."

They entered a heavy growth of timber shortly, and Carl was obliged to come and take the lead. It was beginning to get cold, and all the boys had put on their coats.

"It's most three, ain't it?" asked Jerry, who had not brought his watch.

Hawke took out his timepiece and said, "Just three." Then he added: "Do you think we can make this to-day?"

"We can tell better when we get out of these woods," answered Carl. "I think you'll be quite near it then."

In a short while they reached the outskirts of the timber growth, and, as Carl had predicted, found themselves very near the spot they had aimed for. They could see it plainly now, a sort of square dwelling or tower, the base of it thickly covered with various green shrubs and vines. But they were hopelessly separated from it by a deep and wide ravine, down which rushed a great torrent of roaring water.

"Guess we can't get at that," said Herb after they had stood for some time silent on the bank of this cataract. "Let's go back—unless Fred wants to take a picture."

"It's gettin' kind of dark for that," said Fred. At this remark the others suddenly noticed that the sun had disappeared behind a cloud and the sky looked black.

"Say," exclaimed Fly, "that looks like a pretty ugly cloud over there."

"What if there should be a bully storm?" exclaimed Jerry, eager for the excitement.

"Gee, I was in a mountain storm once," recounted Herb, "and it was great. There was a couple of tenderfeet with us, and they was scared to death. Yuh scared, Windy?"

"Naw," replied Fred scornfully. "Anyhow, looks as though the sun has just gone behind a cloud and will soon be out again."

"Kind o' cold," complained Fly, buttoning his coat. "Say, I wonder—" he stopped, for there was an ominous rumble among the darkening clouds which were hurriedly crowding together like a dark-clad army maneuvering for a sudden attack.

"That's old man Thor," said Dunk, who was something of a poet at times, and had read more extensively than the average boy of his age. "He's gettin' ready to hit us between the eyes. Ain't you awful afraid, Tender?"

Just then a blinding streak of fire cut its zigzag way through the black sky, lighting up every peak and crevice, followed by a sharp crack that broadened into a deafening roar and made the boys jump with surprise.

"We're in for it, all right," said Herb laughing. "My, this is going to be terrible, Windy," he added with mock solemnity.

They stood not far from the cavernous ravine, where, almost beneath them, they could hear the water tearing over the rocks. Soon a swift, strong wind rushed out of the forest behind them, the trees bending and swaying helplessly before the mighty torrent of air.

"There goes my hat," cried Jerry, as his sombrero was swept from his head.

"No use going after that," laughed Hawke, for the hat was speedily blown over the precipice and whirled down into the ravine. The other boys quickly pulled their headgear down more securely.

"That old tower looks like a picture," exclaimed Dunk, as a bolt of lightning lit up the ancient structure and painted its somber walls with a vivid light more brilliant than sunshine.

"Why don't you take a picture of it, Windy?" asked Tender.

"Fine idea," exclaimed the Clevelander, adjusting his camera. "I never had a chance to take a flashlight like this."

Almost as he spoke there was a report like that of a huge gun, and an accompanying line of fire.

"Did you see that, fellows?" exclaimed Fred, when the noise had died down.

"What?" came in a chorus from the boys.

"Didn't you see it?" Fred repeated.

"What yuh talkin' about?" asked Herb, a little impatiently.

"Was you looking?"

"Come across, Windy," exclaimed Fly. "What are you driving at anyhow?"

Before the Clevelander had time to reply to this question, they were startled by a most peculiar shriek which pierced the air, and seemed to cut to the very marrow of their bones.

It came only once, but left the party hushed and silent.

"Must be an eagle," said Carl finally, "though it's the fiercest I ever heard."

"What was it you saw, Fred," asked Hawke.

"Well, when that light came, and I snapped the picture, I thought I saw something big and black floating around over there by that old tower."

"I didn't see nothing and I was lookin'!" deprecated Tender, doubtfully.

"Did you see it, Hawke?" persisted the young photographer.

"I blinked my eyes when the lightning flashed," replied the aviator.

"Well, I tell you I saw something." Fred spoke with conviction. "And it looked like a bird."

"Maybe it was—the one that yelled," said Dunk.

"The Thunder Bird, maybe," shouted Carl.

"Gee!" said several of the boys at once.

"I'll bet we're near his shrine," continued Fred excitedly, "and he's raising this storm."

"Aw, come off, you're dreamin'," discouraged Tender, though half convinced.

"I didn't see nothin' either," added Jerry, unwilling to admit that he was a little scared at the supernatural aspect things were taking.

"Maybe the picture will show," said Hawke.

Bang—a cannon seemed to be hurling great balls against an iron wall with a shock that reverberated in all directions. The tumult became so continuous as to make conversation impossible, and the frequent flashes of light gave the timber the appearance of being on fire. The boys stood silent, rather enjoying the spectacle, though they were shivering with cold.

After a while the clouds spent their gathered energy and the rain fell in great torrents. Very soon the boys were drenched to the skin, but there seemed no escape. To go into the timber was dangerous, and blocking them in front was the yawning chasm.

"If we could only get at that old cliff dwellin'," suggested Fly, "we might find cover."

"We'll have to wait until we get our airship, to do that," laughed Hawke.

"There's a big rock down here," said Carl, returning from a short excursion which he had made along the side of the cascade, looking for shelter. "I think we can crowd under it till this is over."

The others hastily followed him, and were soon shielded from the rain under a huge, projecting boulder situated almost perilously on a smaller rock.

There they waited for some time, and about five o'clock the storm abated as quickly as it had arisen.

"Wonder where our pony is by this time!" speculated Fred.

"No telling," answered the Indian boy. "I'm afraid he's gotten scared and run away."

"With the grizzly!" Tender's tone was regretful.

They started back in the gray light of the obscured sun. Hawke hurried them, having an older person's concern for their welfare, and fearing they might suffer some bad results from wet clothing and cold.

A STRANGE MEETING

"There ain't no chance of our pony's bein' there," remarked Tender, thinking more of the grizzly than anything else. "They'll think we're tellin' a fish story about that bear."

"If it was my own pony," said Carlito, "I wouldn't be afraid to bet my best quiver that he'd still be there. This one I don't know."

Their homeward journey was somewhat different from the climb upward. The ground was soggy and wet with soaked leaves and mud, while water constantly dripped upon them as they passed under the trees. The sun, now setting just above the peak, gave a wan light through a half-mist, half-fog, which had arisen. They were still in rather high altitude, and the air was moist and cold. Creeping things, frightened into their holes by the storm, now ventured forth and skimmed across the ground frequently, disappearing again under the scraggy underbrush.

"Soon be time for the bats and owls," observed Dunk, as a surprised lizard hurried across their path.

Though they were all damp and chilled and anxious to regain their original camp, the boys kept up a cheerful conversation all the way.

"Funny you fellows didn't see that bird," said Fred.

"There wasn't no bird," twitted Jerry. "You just blinked your eyes when that flash came, and dreamt the rest."

"On the square though, fellows," seriously commented Herb, "Fred may be right, and that old tower may be the very place we're lookin' for."

"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 space.

"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 passage 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 sparsely 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.