Pike reached for the glass, but by the time he could focus it to fit his eyes, the man had re-mounted, riding south, and there was only the dead girl left there where she fell, an Indian girl they both knew, Anita, daughter of Miguel, the major-domo of Mesa Blanca, whose own little rancheria was with the Pimans at Palomitas.
Above two pair of black wings swept in graceful curves against the saffron sky--waiting!
Rhodes went back to the outfit for pick and shovel, and when twilight fell they made a grave there in the dusky cañon of the desert.
They camped that night in the barranca, and next morning a thin blue smoke a mile away drew Kit out on the roan even in the face of the heat to be, and the water yet to find. He hoped to discover someone who had been more fortunate in escape.
He found instead an Indian he knew, one whose gray hair was matted with blood and who stood as if dazed by terror at sound of hoofs. It was Miguel, the Pima head man of Mesa Blanca.
"Why, Miguel, don't you know me?" asked Kit.
The eyes of the man had a strange look, and he did not answer. But he did move hesitatingly to the horse and stroked it.
"_Caballo_," he said. "_Muy bueno, caballo._"
"Yes," agreed Pardner's rider, "very good always."
Kit swung from the saddle, and patted the old man's shoulder. He was plainly dazed from either a hurt, or shock, and would without doubt die if left alone.
"Come, you ride, and we'll go to camp, then find water," suggested Kit. "Camp here no good. Come help me find water."
That appeal penetrated the man's mind more clearly. Miguel had been the well-trusted one of the Indian vaqueros, used to a certain dependence put upon him, and he straightened his shoulders for a task.
"_Si_ señor, a good padrone are you, and water it will be found for you." He was about to mount when he halted, bewildered, and looked about him as if in search.
"All--my people--" he said brokenly. "My children of me--my child!"
Kit knew that his most winning child lay newly covered under the sand and stones he had gathered by moonlight to protect the grave from coyotes.
But there was a rustle back of him and a black-eyed elf, little more than a child, was standing close, shaking the sand from her hair.