could hold onto. In the rear of the procession trotted the
two pack animals.

We may have seemed too young to undertake the responsibilities we had.
But Jim was almost seventeen, the age that the famous scout, Kit Carson,
started on his career in the West. Tom and I, the twins, were two years
younger. Jim was the kingpin and we were auxiliaries.

CHAPTER XII

THE MESA VILLAGE

"I tell you one thing," said Jim, "I'm mighty glad to get out of the
country of the Apaches. Our one experience with those beggars will last
me the rest of my natural life."

"We might run into some roving bands," I said. "I don't believe that
they have any regular boundaries to their country."

"They don't get beyond their own section, unless they are at war with
some other tribes. They ought to be satisfied with all those mountains
and plains back of us to hunt over."

"Say boys, what is that ahead of us on that mesa?" asked Tom. "It looks
like some houses to me."

"Houses!" I exclaimed, skeptically, "what would anybody do with houses
up on a place like that and who would live in them?"

"It's reasonable enough," said Jim, "that the Indians should build on a
high place like that. It's a natural fort and they would be safe from
the attacks of their enemies. In a flat country like this where there
are no woods or other defense those mesas are just the thing."

"I suppose that we had better keep to the north," I said, "because we
don't want to mix it with any Indians. I don't care for their society,
no matter how kind and gentle they are and perhaps it isn't their day at
home."

"We can't always be dodging around," replied Jim, "for we will never
reach the Colorado River. It's right on our line of march and we might
just as well take in all the sights."

"Perhaps it is just a mirage," I suggested hopefully, "like that
beautiful lake we saw on the plains in Kansas, with the trees around it.
That was nothing but a heated haze and our thirsty imaginations."

"That's no mirage, it's the real thing," declared Tom. "You'll see in a
half hour."

"A half hour," laughed Jim, scornfully, "you've been in the West all
this time and can't tell distance better than that. It will take us a
good three hours to reach it."

Jim hit it about right, for it took us three hours and a half before we
came within striking distance of the mesa.

"It looks like quite a town up there," said Jim, "but nobody seems to be
at home."

I took off my s