“But it’s taking you miles out of your way, Lucky,” Virginia protested. “You know I have never been afraid to ride alone, anywhere on all our wild desert.” “Ah know, Miss Virginia,” Lucky replied, “but them times was sort of different like, and what’s more, I promised Malcolm as how ah’d look out for you all. A little extra riding won’t hurt me no-how.” Lucky was obstinate, and Virginia knew that it was useless for her to protest, but when, at last, they were within sight of the wall of rock, she drew rein as she said, “Lucky, surely you will permit us to ride this last mile alone, for you can see that there is nothing between here and the mountains to do us harm.” To Virginia’s delight the cow-boy acquiesced and whirling his pony about he galloped away, waving his sombrero while the girls called after him, “Goodbye, Lucky, thank you for escorting us.” “Where is the Indian village, Virg?” Babs inquired as they neared the mountains. “I can’t see a tepee anywhere about.” “Nor will you,” the western girl told her. “My Indian friends are modern and live in adobe dwellings.” They rode slowly along the base of the sheer wall of rocks. “It’s the strangest thing,” Virg declared, “When I was here last with my brother, I made a mental note of a peculiar grouping of cactus plants that grew within a stone’s throw of the almost hidden entrance, but now I do not see it anywhere.” Margaret had ridden ahead and she suddenly whirled about and galloped back toward the others. She seemed excited about something. “There’s an Indian in ambush just ahead of us,” she said as she glanced fearfully back over her shoulder. “He is crouched down behind a clump of cactus plants and I’m just sure that he’s been watching us!” Barbara’s eyes were wide with terror. “Oh, Virg,” she exclaimed, “maybe the Papagoes have become suddenly hostile. Maybe they have gone on the warpath.” Virginia’s laugh was natural and fearless. “It’s probably little Red Feather or one of his comrades,” she said as she urged Comrade forward, but the Indian, who rose as they approached, was not one whom she had ever seen before. However, she knew from the red mark on his forehead that he was a Papago, and so she said the few words that she had learned in their tongue, “Friends—come, see Winona.” Silently and solemnly, the young Indian pointed toward the wall of rock beyond and back of him, and as they rode in that direction, Virginia soon saw the opening for which she had been searching. They entered a narrow canyon, riding single file. “Girls!” Babs said, almost in a whisper, “I don’t feel real. I just can’t.” Then she added as she lifted her head to listen, “Hark! Virginia, what is that howling noise ahead of us? It sounds like a pack of wolves. Hadn’t we better go back? Won’t they tear us to pieces?”