Then, irrelevantly: “Oh Megsy, do you suppose that you will ever be my room-mate again back in dear old Vine Haven?” “It’s hard to tell, Babs. It all depends on what will happen. If I am able to go, then our darling Virg will go too.” “Ohee, how wonderful that would be!” the irrepressible Babs exclaimed. “Let’s gallop,” Margaret suggested. “Virginia is beckoning to us.” CHAPTER XLIII THE LOST MESSAGE The enthusiastic Margaret and the bubbling Babs galloped to the place where Winona and Virginia, having drawn rein, were awaiting them. Virg said: “Winona has been telling me that she did not really have a message for us, that is, nothing that could concern Tom. Red Feather had chanced to capture a carrier pigeon which in some manner had been hurt, and had been unable to continue its flight and deliver the message that had been entrusted to its care.” “Winona found a piece of brown paper wound about the bird’s leg and securely fastened, but she was unable to read it. It was then that she recalled having heard me say that brother Malcolm and I had often sent messages to each other written in our secret code, and she wondered if the carrier pigeon might belong to us, and so she sent little Red Feather with the bit of brown paper. On his return that night he lost it; he cannot think where, and that is why Winona did not send him again to V. M. Brother and I never did possess a carrier pigeon, and so, of course, the message could not be for me.” “A pigeon will only carry a message back to its own home place, isn’t that so, Virginia?” Margaret inquired. “I believe that it is,” was the reply. Then turning to Winona she said: “I would like to see that bird. May I?” “Red Feather has it secured somewhere, I think,” the Indian girl replied. “There he comes now. We will ask him.” The little Indian boy with a jaunty red feather in the narrow band that bound his shiny black hair close to his head, was racing toward them while a small wolf-like puppy sprang up at him, barking joyfully. The girls dismounted and Virginia held out her right hand; then turning to the interested Babs, she said: “Barbara, this is Red Feather of whom you have heard. Perhaps he will shake hands with you and Margaret.” The bright, black eyes were lifted inquiringly toward Winona, and then when she smilingly nodded at him, the little fellow extended one hand, his usually solemn little face twinkling merrily as though he were doing something unusual and amusing. This was evidently not the Papago manner of greeting. Babs wondered if they rubbed noses instead. Winona spoke rapidly in a language strange to the Easterners and the small boy listened attentively. Then, as though complying with the Indian maiden’s request, he led the ponies away to the fenced-in corral which was in the middle of the bowl-like valley and was surrounded by the scattered adobe huts. “Red Feather will return directly,” Winona told them, “and then he will show us his pigeon.”