On a bowlder, not more than five steps from the amateur prospector, sat an Indian.
With an exclamation, the white man sprang to his feet.
The Indian did not move. Dressed as he was in the wild fashion of his fathers and with his primitive bow and arrows, he seemed more like some sculptured bit of the past than a creature of living flesh.
Hugh Edwards, standing as one ready to run at the crack of the starter’s pistol, swiftly surveyed the immediate vicinity. His face was white and he was trembling with fear.
With grave interest the red man silently observed the perturbed stranger. Then, as Edwards again turned his frightened eyes toward him, the Indian raised his hand in the old-time peace sign and in a deep, musical voice spoke the one word of the old-time greeting:
Edwards broke into a short, nervous laugh.
“How-do-you-do--By George! but you gave me a start.”
Some small animal--a pack rat or a ground squirrel--made a rustling sound in the bushes on the bank above, and with a low cry the frightened man wheeled, and again started as if to escape.
The Indian, watching, saw the meaning in every move the stranger made, and read every expression of his face.
With an effort Edwards controlled himself.
“Are you alone?” he asked. “I mean”--he caught himself up quickly--“that is--have you no horse?”
“I am always alone,” the Indian answered calmly. Then, as if to put the other more at ease, he continued in excellent English: “Night before last, when the sun went down, I was up there on Samaniego Ridge,” he pointed with singular grace. “There on that rock near the dead sahuaro, and I saw you as you came up the old road into the cañon.”
Hugh Edwards again betrayed himself by the eagerness of his next question:
“There was no one on your trail,” returned the Indian.
At this the stranger seemed to realize suddenly that he was permitting his fears to reveal too much, and, as one will, he sought to amend his error with a half-laughing excuse.
“Really, you know, I didn’t suppose there was any one following me.” He indicated his work with a gesture. “I am not exactly used to this sort of life, you see, and--well--I confess the loneliness, the strangeness of my surroundings, and all, have rather got on my nerves--quite natural, I suppose.”