“We’ll get back to camp, right sudden pronto, Niltci!” he cried. “Mexicans is right. That’s Vasquez and Company, you bet! Le’s go!” CHAPTER VIII HANO Bearing the water jug for Sid’s pony, Hano descended that sulphur-fumed tunnel up which he had led the white boy not three hours before. It was now late in the afternoon; it would be nightfall before he could find the horse and ride. At the cave entrance one scout was on guard, a young fellow like Hano himself, not yet twenty. He rose respectfully as the chief’s son came by. “Ai, Hano!” he greeted, for he had heard nothing of the disturbance up in the village. He did not remark on the water jug nor question Hano about it, for such would have been contrary to his whole training. Only squaws asked idle questions. Hano nodded and went on out. No one saw him from the lava basin brink, for the entire band was gathered in the council lodge for the sheep meat distribution. He climbed up the mountain side, following his original course downward with Sid, and soon disappeared over the ridge. From there Hano began tracking Sid over on the Pass side. He noted with some surprise that the dog was now gone, but that did not matter much. Hano’s face was set in a brown study of thought. He resembled his father, Honanta, strongly. The face was young and keen, with the high bony cheeks and the hard, thin facial muscles of youth, but it would acquire the same fullness as Honanta’s with growing years. Indianlike, Hano was considering, not his own personal interests but his duty toward his tribe. To aid them he had broken his honor--that honor which required him to await the judgment of the old men even if unbound and free to go. It was repugnant to him to take the step because of Sid’s words, but his duty to the tribe was paramount. The main thing, as he saw it, was to keep _all_ these white men from ever discovering Red Mesa--The Arms of the Great Mystery. The white boy had spoken of Mexicanos coming. Hano knew them. Occasionally, not often, small parties of them had visited this region. They usually came by the Sonoyta River, following it until it lost itself in the sands to the south of Pinacate. From there they generally went to Represa Tank, from which the Camino del Diablo led them safely away from the mountains of Red Mesa. Only once in a great while had the Apache found it necessary to abolish one of these Mexican gentry who had become too inquisitive. The white boy had told him also of a hound which could track him to Red Mesa. Hano doubted this not at all, for he had often heard in the lodge, of a winter’s night, stories of the far-famed sagacity and the wonderful tracking nose of this dog of the white man’s. He would like to have a dog like that himself for tracking mountain sheep. To capture or to kill him was one of the things that Hano decided to attempt.