"Rabbit Tail says you fellows may stay and help me finish this condenser, if you will. I know I can find the money to pay you for it. How about it?" Jo, the spokesman, was a tall thin Indian, with a fine brow and intelligent eyes. "No, I guess we'll go on back to camp, Mr. Moore," he said. "But I thought you were interested in what I am trying to put over," exclaimed Roger. "So we are. It's always interesting to learn what you whites are trying to do. You work so fearfully hard that we Indians are always curious to find out the idea back of the work. But as for helping you do the work--well, it's like this, you folks are always mighty interested in what we Indians do--making blankets or pottery or building hogans or making ceremonial altars. But I don't notice any of you really wanting to help us." Roger cast a bewildered look about him but the other bronzed faces betokened full acquiescence with Jo's words. "But why did you learn your trades so well?" he asked, finally. "Interested in the idea--and it helps us compete with the whites, when necessary!" "Then you really don't care about my finishing the plant?" "Why should we?" returned Jo. Roger sighed and scratched his head. "Then why did you come at all?" "The chief asked us and we knew Charley. She's been kind to me and I wanted to help her out." "If the whole gang of you would give me just two more days we could finish in good shape," pleaded Roger. "You can get along," replied Jo. "We've done what we promised." "Yes, you have, and a bully job. But--well, I'm floored. I just can't get your point of view." Roger's voice was rueful. Jo laughed. "And we can't get yours." There was an extra good supper that night and formal thanks on the part of Charley. Then, in the moonlight, the whole picturesque caravan moved off up the mountain trail. Charley, returning to the living room, said, "Well, children, I'm cheerful in spite of the fact that there's not two days' food left in the house." "I've got a little credit still at Hackett's," said Roger. "I think Gustav had better go in to Archer's in the morning. I think my freight must be there from the Dean and we should be hearing from Ernest." Dick, smoking in the doorway, nodded, then repeated the remark that he had made on the average of once an hour ever since Friday. "There isn't a well like mine in a radius of a hundred miles." Gustav brought back two weeks' food supply, the freight from the Dean and letters from Ernest. They were very noncommittal but cheerful. He had cleared up the misunderstanding with the Smithsonian Institution, but as yet had no money and did not know when he could get back. "Well," said Roger, "we've got grub for a week or so. I'm not quite sure whose grub it is. These two camps seem to me to have become helplessly entangled." "Who cares!" said Elsa.