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CHAPTER XX
THE MYSTERIOUS ARROW
“THE end of a perfect day,” breathed Elfreda Briggs, as the launch bearing the Overland Riders and General Gordon’s party rounded a point of land, and the Lodge, for which they were now heading, stood out white against its dark background of mountains.
The voyage over the blue waters of Lake Roosevelt, and the picnic at the upper end of the lake, had been most enjoyable. Nothing had occurred to mar the pleasure of the sixty-mile voyage, through enchanting scenery.
“I think Miss Briggs has echoed the sentiments of all of us,” spoke up Anne.
“It would have been just our luck to have had the old boat sink under us,” differed Emma, amid much laughter.
“There’s our camp,” Hippy informed them. “Ike has arrived and is ready for us.”
All eyes were turned toward the shore, where the little white tents of the Overland Riders nestled at the base of the mountains, close to the water’s edge, the camp having been pitched a short quarter of a mile up the lake from the Lodge.
“It looks good to me,” declared the general. “I envy you young women the life you are leading out here, and wish I might be so fortunate as to belong to your outfit.”
“You’d regret it,” chuckled Emma Dean.
“Try me and see,” the general came back quickly.
“Very well, we will take you at your word, General,” answered Grace. “This evening you shall have mess with the Overland Riders in their camp. We shall undoubtedly be on short rations still, but that is a part of the life.”
“Good! I accept,” nodded the general.
“The invitation includes all of your party, of course,” said Grace, glancing inquiringly at the smiling faces around the cockpit of the launch.
“I know it will be a delightful experience,” declared Mrs. Cartwright.
“Wonderful!” added Miss Cartwright.
“I, for one, already have accepted, in my own mind,” nodded the general’s wife.
“Having lost our wagon with most of our table ware, we cannot offer you any luxuries. We have only our mess kits, and the plates in them will barely go around. It may be necessary for two persons to eat from the same plate,” added Grace mischievously.
“May we sleep at the camp to-night? I should so dearly love to sleep in a tent in the open,” declared Miss Cartwright.
“I fear it will be too cold for you. We will speak of it later, however. After you have spent a few hours in camp and partaken of our fare, you may not wish to remain over night.”
“Of course you are desirous of visiting the ancient homes of the cliff dwellers up yonder?” questioned Mrs. Gordon, pointing to the mountains.
“Yes, indeed. I hope to do some exploring there, too,” answered Grace. “When we land at the Lodge, if you good people will wait on the veranda for me, I will run over to the camp and see what shape we are in, then call for you later,” suggested Grace as they neared the landing place.
Grace and Hippy left their party at the Lodge pier and hurried to the camp.
“We are to have company for mess this evening, Mr. Fairweather. How well are we supplied with provisions?” she asked.
The old stagecoach driver said they had bacon, canned beans and coffee, but not much of anything else.
“See if you can purchase something more at the Lodge, especially potatoes. Did you find an Indian here taking care of the ponies?”
“Joe Smoky Face, as he called himself, was here lookin’ after the ponies, but when I came he went away. Don’t like them Apaches. Bad medicine, every one of ’em.”
“Joe is said to be trustworthy,” said Grace.
“Good Indians wear white men’s dress. This Redskin dresses like what he is – an Apache – an’ he lives with his tribe up the mountain,” growled Ike.
“Why worry about Indians?” interjected Lieutenant Wingate. “Food and more food is the burning question of the hour.”
Grace directed the driver to take one of the horses and fetch some potatoes and some few other necessaries from the Lodge.
“It is quite probable that we shall be here for a few days, so nothing in the way of food need be left behind,” she told him.
Following Ike’s departure, Grace and Hippy began putting the finishing touches to the camp. Blankets were neatly rolled and placed on the folding cots; a fancy paper spread was laid over the rough table that Ike had constructed for them, and paper napkins laid at each plate. A bunch of wild asters, set between two stones, to keep them from toppling over, completed the table decorations.
“There!” announced Grace, surveying the result of her labors. “We may not be strong on food, but we have decorations. Perhaps the guests may overlook the mere matter of food,” she added laughingly.
By the time the camp was in order, Ike came trotting up with his pack animal. He had a bushel of potatoes, and some fresh vegetables from which Grace prepared a salad, and while she was doing this, Ike thrust the potatoes into hot ashes to bake.
“The young ladies will be here to help to finish getting the supper ready, Mr. Fairweather. I shall return at seven with our company. One of the guests is General Gordon, a brave soldier whom I met on the battlefield in the Argonne. The other is Colonel Cartwright, another valiant soldier of the late war. I thought you might be interested in knowing something about these men, for they are real men.”
“Just like myself,” added Hippy.
“Yes, Hippy, I agree with you there. Shall you go to the Lodge with me? I think you had best do so as the ladies may need assistance over the rough ground between here and the Lodge. Mr. Fairweather, our guests may conclude that they wish to stay all night. If so, we ladies will sleep in one tent, giving the guests the cots and most of the blankets. What is your opinion of the weather?”
“Might rain.”
“I am of the same opinion. However, what’s the odds? Come, Hippy!”
Reaching the Lodge, Grace directed the girls to go to camp and have the supper ready to be served at seven o’clock sharp, telling them of the preparations that already had been made.
She then sat down to wait for her friends, who were still in their rooms. There were any number of persons who welcomed the opportunity to engage the Overland Rider in conversation, which at once turned to war subjects. What Grace had to say about the war, however, did not concern herself, but had to do with General Gordon’s achievements on the western front.
“Won’t you please tell us, Mrs. Gray, how you won the French war cross and the distinguished service medal?” begged a lady courteously.
“General Gordon evidently has been talking out of meetin’,” laughed Grace. “Please excuse me from speaking of myself. Surely, you realize that it would be most embarrassing to me to speak of myself.”
The lady begged her pardon, and declared that it was rude of her to have asked the question. Grace smiled and began telling her questioner of the work of the Overton Unit, and of Lieutenant Wingate’s valiant services in the army flying corps. This led to stories of the war, and when General Gordon and his party came down he found nearly all the guests of the Lodge gathered about the Overton College girl, listening to her praise, not only of the Overton girls, but of the young men of America, who had fought the great fight.
“Are we late?” asked Mrs. Gordon, extending her hand.
“No, you are in good time, but I think we should start now. Where is Lieutenant Wingate? I have not seen him since we reached the hotel.”
“Some one said he was seen trying to borrow a hat from the chef to wear to supper,” answered a male voice.
“That is the army spirit of freedom,” nodded Grace. “Incidentally it is like Lieutenant Wingate. He lost his hat on the way in, and the wagon that carried most of our wearing apparel lies at the bottom of a canyon. We will be going. If you ladies and gentlemen care to visit our camp we shall be glad to have you do so to-morrow,” added Grace courteously, turning to the guests to whom she had been telling war stories.
“Here comes the lieutenant,” informed the man who had told Grace where he had last seen Hippy. The lieutenant wore a derby hat, a full size too small for him, and this, crowning his army uniform, made him look ridiculous.
A laugh greeted his appearance.
Hippy’s face wore a severe expression. He offered his arm to Miss Cartwright with grace and dignity. At least that was what he intended it to be, but Grace thanked the kind fates that Emma Dean was not present to express her opinion of Hippy’s appearance before all the guests of the hotel.
“Have you decided to remain with us to-night, General?” asked Grace.
“Mrs. Gordon and myself and Miss Cartwright will accept your hospitality, if you are certain that we shall not be crowding you.”
“There is plenty of room in the mountains,” answered Grace with a wave of the hand. “You are used to campaigning, General, but I hope the ladies will not regret their decision.”
They assured Grace that they would not; so the party started out full of anticipation for the new experience that lay before them.
The general, when they reached the camp, turned to Grace with eyes twinkling.
“I would know, even did I not know that this was your camp, that some one who had been with the forces, had laid it out,” he said.
“Old Mr. Fairweather, our driver, laid it out,” answered Grace mischievously.
“He is an apt pupil,” returned the general.
“You win, General,” laughed Grace.
“Isn’t this delightful?” cried Miss Cartwright. “And look at the table. Pardon my ill manners, but this is so different from what I expected to find in – in – ”
“In a traveling circus,” finished Emma amid laughter.
“Oh, the worst is yet to come,” observed Hippy.
Grace introduced Mr. Fairweather to their guests, who shook hands cordially with the old stagecoach driver.
“Are the potatoes done?” whispered Grace.
Ike nodded.
Odors of frying bacon and the aroma of coffee were in the air, and, when Grace announced that the guests were to be seated, the summons was quickly answered. Grace had brought a pound of butter with her from the Lodge, a luxury that the Overland girls themselves had not enjoyed since the first day out from Globe.
“I haven’t had such an appetite since I left France,” declared the general.
“Perhaps you have not had so much exercise and fresh air in any one day since then,” suggested Elfreda.
“Possibly that explains it,” replied the officer dryly.
The supper went along merrily, the stock of bacon being considerably depleted when finally the guests refused another helping, and, at Grace’s invitation, rose and strolled over to the cheerful campfire, where they sat down, the men to smoke their pipes and the women to chat.
It was ten o’clock when Colonel Cartwright said he must be getting back to the Lodge. He added that there was dancing there, and invited the Overland girls to go over and dance, but Grace declined for her party, saying that they had a strenuous day ahead of them, as they wished to explore the cliff dwellers’ homes on the morrow. Grace had further plans in mind regarding the explorations, but she said nothing to her guests about it.
“General,” said Grace, calling the officer aside before the colonel and his wife took their leave. “It looks like a storm to-night. I wish you and Mrs. Gordon to remain if you desire to do so, but we may have a wet time of it.”
“An old campaigner like myself doesn’t mind a little thing like a wetting. You should know that.”
“I am not thinking of you, but of Mrs. Gordon and Miss Cartwright.”
“Both good scouts,” answered the general.
“Campers’ fare will be yours then, sir. Good-night, Colonel and Mrs. Cartwright. We shall be happy to have you join us for mess at any time.”
Before leaving, the colonel invited the Overland girls to have dinner with him at the Lodge on the following evening and remain for the dance.
Grace said they could not think of it, so far as the dinner was concerned, but that, if they were not too tired, they would go over for the dance.
The Gordons and Miss Cartwright resumed their positions by the campfire after the colonel and his wife, escorted by Hippy, still wearing his derby hat, started towards the Lodge.
The fire was blazing up cheerfully, and before it the girls of the Overton Unit sat and talked with the guests of their campaigning days in France.
Something whistled down from the air, and every person in the outfit heard the thud when it struck the ground.
“A stone from the mountain,” said the general.
“I think not,” replied Grace, getting up.
“It fell right near where you’re standin’,” called Ike Fairweather as Grace began looking about her alertly. “Looked like a stick.”
“Ah! I see it.” Grace sprang forward, followed by General Gordon, and, with her pocket lamp, examined the object that had so mysteriously fallen among them.
“An arrow!” exclaimed the general. “Probably a spent arrow from the Indian camp.”
“The Indian camp is too far away for that, sir,” replied Grace.
“Broken, isn’t it, Mrs. Gray?” questioned the officer, stooping over to pluck the missile from the ground.
“Wait!” warned the Overton girl. She examined the arrow as it stood doubled over at the break, which was about midway of the shaft, then withdrew the point and carried the whole to the campfire for further examination.
CHAPTER XXI
A NIGHT OF THRILLS
AFTER a careful scrutiny of the arrow, Grace glanced up at the general, who was regarding her inquiringly.
“What do you find?” he asked.
“That the arrow has been weakened in the middle by a cut with a knife. It appears to have been the intention of the person who shot it, that it should break on striking the ground. You can see that the cut is a fresh one, probably made only a little while ago.”
“Yes, so I observe. What does that signify?”
“I am not well posted on Indian lore, but I do know that, with the Chinese, a broken stick or twig cast before one is a warning. Mr. Fairweather, will you please come here?”
Ike stepped over and stood frowningly regarding the shaft that Grace was holding up for his inspection.
“This is an Indian arrow, is it not, Mr. Fairweather?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“What does it mean when an Indian shoots an arrow with such a break as this in it?”
“Trouble!” answered the stagecoach driver without hesitation. “It’s a warning, Mrs. Gray.”
“Then it must have come from an Indian who feels kindly toward us. What I do not understand is, why, if he wished to give us warning of something, he did not come to us with it.”
“Indians is queer critters,” observed Ike wisely. “There’s no accountin’ for Indians, and ’specially Apaches.”
“I think I agree with you,” answered Grace, rewarding the old man with a smile. “Please see to it that the ponies are well staked. Nothing more, Mr. Fairweather.”
After the driver had walked away, Grace leaned back and laughed.
“I have a feeling, General, that before this night ends you will be wishing that you had remained at the Lodge,” chuckled Grace.
“Oh, no, nothing like that, Mrs. Gray. I should enjoy a little excitement. It has been a long time since the armistice was signed, and with it the real joy of trying to live, passed.”
“Yes, I agree with you.” Excusing herself, as Hippy came up and sat down to chat with the general while the girls were entertaining Mrs. Gordon and Miss Cartwright, Grace walked over to Ike who was restaking the horses.
“We hope to do some mountain climbing to-morrow, and if we do so I shall require several hundred feet of light, strong rope. Please see if you can get it for me. What do you think?” asked Grace, nodding toward the sky.
“Mountain squall, I reckon.”
“More than a squall, I should say. However, you know more about the mountain weather than I do. And, confidentially, Mr. Fairweather, that broken arrow leads me to believe that it would be good judgment for you to take a rifle to bed with you to-night,” suggested Grace.
Ike grinned and nodded.
Returning to her guests, Grace suggested to them that it might be well to turn in, as a busy day was before them for the morrow.
“General, you and the lieutenant will occupy the small tent to the right; the ladies will take the middle one, and we girls will occupy the large outside tent. I hope you will sleep well. Lieutenant, please show the general to his sleeping place.”
Half an hour later the Overland girls were chattering in low tones in their own tent. Hippy and the general were already snoring in theirs, while the two women guests were having some difficulty in getting to sleep in their strange surroundings.
Grace had thrown herself down on her cot where she lay pondering on the mystery of the broken arrow. After half an hour of this she got up to have a look at the weather before turning in for the night, observing that the campfire, fanned by a breeze from the mountains, was flickering and snapping as if in protest at being disturbed.
Shading her eyes with a hand and gazing up to the mountains, Grace saw dark clouds swirling about the Four Peaks in the distance, and heard a deep-throated, far away roar of thunder. A dull red flash on the opposite side of the range of mountains reminded her of flashes from the big guns on the battle front.
“I think we are going to catch it,” observed the Overland girl. “Can it be that the arrow was a storm warning?” Grace dismissed the thought as improbable, and, returning to her tent, laid aside her clothes and got into bed. She was awakened some two hours later by tremendous gusts of wind, accompanied by flapping canvas and a heavy downpour of rain.
Lightning flashes were outlining the black clouds, and crashes of thunder reverberated from peak to peak, seeming finally to lose themselves in the black depths of the canyons.
Grace got up and dressed, and, putting on her slicker, stepped out. The raindrops beat on her face, stinging like tiny hailstones.
The ponies were whinneying and rearing, so Grace stepped over and tried to quiet them, and there Ike Fairweather found her as she stood revealed when a flash of lightning deluged the camp with a blinding light.
“That you, Mrs. Gray?” he called, uncertain just which one of the outfit it was that he saw.
“Yes.” Grace had to shout to make herself heard above the roar of the gale. “Where is the lieutenant?”
“Sleepin’. Think the tents will hold?” questioned Ike anxiously.
“I hope so. Please look after the horses. I will rout out the lieutenant and see what we can do to keep the tents down, especially the one occupied by General Gordon’s wife and companion.”
Grace ran back and called Hippy. The general heard the call and answered first.
“Heavy storm, sir,” Grace informed him. “Hippy, please hurry out. I need you.”
“Wha – at is it? Is Jerry coming?” answered Hippy Wingate sleepily.
The general laughed.
“It is bad, isn’t it? What do you wish me to do, Mrs. Gray?” he asked.
“We must try to hold down Mrs. Gordon’s tent, but I fear we shall lose some of our canvas.”
“There goes one already!” cried the general, as the tent he and Lieutenant Wingate had occupied puffed out like a balloon and disappeared in the darkness. The lieutenant made no effort to recover it, but ran calling to Grace to know where she was.
“Sit on the stakes. Hold the guests’ tent down at all hazards,” she cried.
Elfreda had taken charge of the tent occupied by the Overland girls, and was hurrying her companions with their dressing. They had barely finished dressing, when the tent pulled its stakes and toppled over.
“Grab it! Don’t let it get away!” shouted Miss Briggs.
“What was that?” cried General Gordon, when, during a brief lull in the storm, his ears caught a familiar whistling sound.
“A bullet, sir,” answered Grace promptly. “Watch out for the next gust of wind. It’s going to be a severe one.”
“There they come again!” exclaimed the general, as bullets began spraying the camp.
Grace sprang to the tent occupied by Mrs. Gordon, which Hippy was doing his best to hold down.
“Lie flat on the ground, Mrs. Gordon!” she shouted. “We’re under fire.”
At about the same instant Elfreda Briggs was uttering a similar warning to the girls in her charge.
The gun-fire grew hotter, continued so for a few moments, then suddenly ceased as a fresh blast of storm swept down on the camp from the mountains, and then, despite all their efforts, the tent that Grace and the two men were now holding, gave way under the tremendous power of the wind.
Mrs. Gordon and Miss Cartwright, while thoroughly frightened, were too plucky to make any outcry, and, after a few moments of lively work, the general and Hippy, with some assistance from Grace, succeeded in saving the tent.
About that time the rain dwindled to a sprinkle, and bullets again began to spatter about the camp. Uttering an exclamation, Grace ran for her rifle, which she thrust into Hippy Wingate’s hand.
“Look!” Grace pointed up at a spot on the mountains. “Look closely and you will see the flashes of the rifles that are shooting at us. Every time you see a flash, shoot at it!”
Hippy located the flashes instantly, and began firing at them, Grace observing and offering suggestions.
“What is he shooting at?” questioned the general.
“At the flashes of the guns up yonder on the mountain. If your eye is quick enough you can see them.”
General Gordon, who had reassured Mrs. Gordon and her companion by telling them that the storm had about blown itself out, at the same time cautioning both to keep down close to the ground so long as the shooting lasted, watched Lieutenant Wingate’s work with the rifle with interest.
After Hippy had twice emptied the magazine of the rifle, the fog clouds blotted out the peaks of the mountains and slowly settled down, drawing a mantle over the point from which the bullets had been coming, whereupon the fire from the mountains ceased and Lieutenant Wingate laid down his rifle.
“I hope that ends it for to-night,” said Grace. “I think the fog will hold pretty much as it is, so the next thing is a campfire if we can find enough fuel to start one.”
Ike was already engaged in this task. General Gordon, in the meantime, was assisting Mrs. Gordon and Miss Cartwright over to the fire which Ike was fanning into life with his sombrero.
“I am so sorry, Mrs. Gordon,” sympathized Grace, as the general’s wife began shaking out her wet, wrinkled skirt.
Mrs. Gordon laughed.
“I am quite willing to suffer such slight discomfort for the privilege of seeing this outfit at work in an emergency,” she declared.
Grace suggested to the general that it might be advisable to take the ladies back to the Lodge for the rest of the night.
“No, no, no!” protested Miss Cartwright. “I, for one, propose to see it through.”
“So do I,” approved Mrs. Gordon.
Elfreda, who had found the makings, was brewing tea over the fire and Anne was toasting crackers on the other side of it.
“Storm, bullets, then tea and crackers! Isn’t this romantic?” cried Miss Cartwright. “You young ladies surely do know how to do things.”
The warmth of the campfire, and the refreshments, put new spirits into the party, and they were now able to laugh over their plight. The guests, however, were at a loss to understand why any one should wish to shoot at the camp of the Overland Riders.
“I cannot comprehend how they were able to place their bullets right in the camp in all that darkness and storm,” wondered Mrs. Gordon.
“Their rifles undoubtedly were aimed and set before dark,” answered Lieutenant Wingate.
“The broken arrow, General,” reminded Grace, nodding to General Gordon.
“Hm – m – m – m!” mused the World-war veteran.
The rest of the night was passed by the campers with some discomfort, but without further disturbance, the tops of the mountains being hidden from sight by the cloud fog until the morning sun cleared away the mists, when a glorious day was in prospect.
“No cliff-dwelling explorations to-day, girls!” cried Elfreda next morning. “We shall have to do our family washing and ironing this morning.”
“If we do I know of one who will have to stay in bed during the process,” piped Emma. “I haven’t been able to find my everyday skirt, and I suppose that too has been blown off into the canyon, perhaps to keep my black silk company.”
Soon after breakfast, Colonel and Mrs. Cartwright came over, they having been much concerned for their friends upon learning that a severe mountain storm had swept the valley in the night. The colonel urged all hands to have dinner with him at the Lodge, but the girls declined, saying that they had work for every minute of the day, so their guests left after obtaining a promise from Grace that she and her friends would attend the dance at the Lodge that evening.
“I have an idea, and to-morrow I shall try to put it to the test,” murmured Grace, using her glasses in a long, searching study of the mountains to the rear of the camp.
It was a hard day’s work that the Overland girls did, but when night came they were ready for the entertainment at the Lodge, and were as well groomed as though they had but just come from their own dressing rooms at home.
“I do not know how you do it. It is wonderful,” exclaimed Miss Cartwright in greeting to the Overlanders upon their arrival at the Lodge.
The dance lasted until half after eleven o’clock, and the girls declared that they had not had such a delightful evening since their last hop at Overton College.
“Come out and get shotted with us,” urged Emma Dean as they were about to take their departure for the camp.
That night the Overland party was treated to another deluge of bullets, but the firing did no damage, beyond putting a hole through the pup-tent occupied by Ike Fairweather. All hands, despite their loss of sleep, were up early on the following morning making preparation for their journey to the homes of the ancient Cliff Dwellers where an exciting day awaited them.
