and lifted
again to cross a peak whose top and sides had been blasted and left
purple and gashed by an ancient volcano. Then once more it dropped
gradually and gracefully into the canyon where the little spring
mirrored the blue of the Arizona sky.

There were half a dozen Indian sun shelters near the spring, each a mere
cat's claw and yucca thatch, supported on cedar posts. To Roger's
surprise and gratification the Indians were at home. It was still early
and they were at breakfast. With Peter trailing like a dog, Charley and
Roger stopped a short distance from the camp.

Old Rabbit Tail, in his breech clout, squatted near a pot of simmering
stew, now dipping in a long handled spoon and eating from it
meditatively, now puffing at a yellow cigarette. Several squaws in dirty
calico dresses, squatted near by awaiting their turn. Each shelter held
a similar group, every one of which paused in breathless interest as the
two whites approached.

Roger strode directly up to the old chief. "Good morning, Rabbit Tail!"
he said.

Rabbit Tail grunted.

"I came up to have a talk with you," Roger went on, pulling out his
pipe. "Sit down, Charley, this is going to be a regular pow-wow."

A tall Indian in the next shelter rose slowly and started quietly toward
the back trail. "Hey! Qui-tha!" called Roger, sternly, "Come back here!
I've something to say to you. The sheriff ought to have you. Call him,
Rabbit Tail."

Rabbit Tail spoke in Hualapai and Qui-tha came slowly up to the old
chief's shelter and dropping down beside him, lighted a cigarette.
Charley, sitting on a rock at a little distance, chin in hand, arm on
knee, shivered slightly in the broiling sun. Roger, who had learned much
about Indians from Qui-tha, jerked his thumb at Charley.

"You know that white woman, Rabbit Tail?"

"Four years!" replied the chief.

"What kind of a woman is she--eh?"

"Good woman. My squaw have papoose one time in her 'dobe. Charley take
care her all same she her sister. Heap good white squaw, Charley."

The squaw in question nodded and smiled at Charley, who smiled in
return, a little sadly. Roger turned to Qui-tha.

"How about her brother, Dick Preble? You like him?"

Qui-tha, his brown face expressionless, nodded. "Yes! Most whites steal
and lie. Dick he never steal or lie to Injun. Good man, except when
drunk."

"Exactly," Roger clutched his pipe bowl firmly. "Did you tell 'em about
the little girl--eh?"

Qui-tha looked