The young man at the spring, hearing their voices, suddenly straightened himself and looked eagerly about. Seeing the boys running toward the hunting band, he followed slowly, his hand resting cautiously upon his spear shaft, but his frank, brown face expressing nothing but friendliness. CHAPTER II The Warning The long line of hunters, laden with the game secured by a week’s vigorous chase, was at the niche stairway before the boys reached them. Impatient to be in the court when they should arrive, to partake in the welcoming ceremony, the boys could not wait until the last of the procession had filed up the dizzy rock steps. Long before, in their explorations about the canyon, they had discovered another way to reach the cavern, steeper and more perilous, but entirely passable for boys whose lives had been spent in scaling cliffs and finding footholds in all sorts of precarious places. Running around a projecting spur and diving through a thicket of scrub oaks, Kwasa and Wiki were at the second stairway in a moment. It was one that few boys of to-day would care to attempt. It ran almost straight up the side of the cliff, and in many places they had to pull themselves from ledge to ledge by straggling tufts of wiry grass or by the tough, well-rooted clumps of grease-wood brush. At one spot, to bridge a particularly smooth and difficult part of the ascent, a pole with sticks bound upon it at intervals to make a sort of rude ladder had been swung down from a rocky ledge above. Up this dangerous ascent Kwasa led the way nimbly, Wiki following close behind him. The young stranger, after looking doubtfully for a moment from the hunting band to the boys, finally plunged through the thicket and took the steeper path, reaching the top only a moment after Kwasa and Wiki had landed with a final active spring upon the safe ledge at the rim of the cavern. “I must speak to your chief quickly,” he said gravely, as Kwasa, who in the excitement had forgotten all about the stranger at the spring, looked at him in surprise. “But,” began Kwasa, “this is no time--” “All times are alike when danger threatens,” said the youth impatiently. “Tell me with whom I should speak.” Kwasa pointed to a little group of men who stood a little apart from the rest, waiting to greet the hunters as they came up, one by one, over the edge of the cliff. “Mosu is a priest,” he said, indicating a tall old man with a band of flat red and black beads bound about his forehead. “Honau is very wise, too, and then there is Bimba--” But the young stranger had hurried away and was accosting Mosu, the tall priest, respectfully. Before he had spoken many words the whole group was listening intently, and in a few minutes the court was hushed and all came crowding about to see what this unusual interruption might mean. Presently the lad stopped speaking and Mosu held up his hand for attention.