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CHAPTER XXII
RELICS OF AN ANCIENT RACE
THE Gordons and Cartwrights had engaged a conveyance to take them to the point on the Apache Trail where they must turn off and walk about a mile to reach the homes of the Cliff Dwellers. The Overland Riders preferred to ride their ponies, Ike taking his team to carry himself and the rations for the day.
Tucked away with the equipment was a strong rope several hundred feet in length, Ike, at Grace’s request, having provided this and other equipment without asking too many questions.
An early start was made, both parties reaching the turning-off place at about the same time, and shortly thereafter a merry company, carrying picnic baskets, was ascending the steep, narrow trail that led to the Tonto Cliff Dwellings.
They found the first of the two main groups of prehistoric community dwellings free of tourists, and the Overton College girls stood in awe as they gazed on the massive masonry of this relic of an unknown past.
“Are you familiar with the history of these cliff dwellings, Mrs. Gray?” asked the general.
“I must confess that I am not wholly familiar with the subject, sir. Will you tell us what you know about them?”
“No one knows of their beginning, nor of the people who inhabited them. We do know that Coronado’s Scouts discovered them nearly four hundred years ago. The Coronado Scouts, it is said, believed that they found the frontier fortresses of that rich kingdom of Tontonteac, which was one of the seven they sought.”
“The dwellings were not then occupied, were they?” asked Anne.
“Oh, no,” responded the general. “They were in ruins as you see them now, so you can form some idea of the antiquity of the dwellings.”
“Do you know whether or not the Cliff Dwellers were here ahead of the Indians, sir?” asked Grace.
“It is supposed that they were, for the Indians of the present day do not even know of them in legend. The dwellers must have had enemies, man or beast, for you see they built their castles in out-of-reach spots. They builded them well, too, high under leaning walls of rock, of blocked stone, set with strong adobe mortar. They were architects, and they were builders, were those ancients,” declared the general.
“A peculiar feature of their homes is that each community lived in a community house, said to have included sixty to seventy rooms. The three dwellings that are accessible do not show what the inner arrangements were, but a fourth one, that has never been explored, is believed to be in a better state of preservation.”
“That is the one I propose to have a look at,” declared Grace.
“I suspected as much,” nodded the general. “Don’t try it, is my advice. You don’t know what kind of a precipice one would have to pass over to get there.”
“I know the precipice, for I have examined it through my glasses, but I am not convinced that there is no other entrance to the place.”
“What makes you think that?”
“The formation of the sheer wall that falls away from their front dooryard shows that it has been in that same condition for perhaps thousands of years, and probably was in the same condition in the days of the Cliff Dwellers. Suppose we have our luncheon here and then have a look at the top of this unknown cliff home.”
All through the luncheon that was eaten in an ancient community house, with the magnificent view of mountain and canyon spread out before them, General Gordon was regarding Grace perplexedly.
“I believe she really intends to try it,” he muttered. “How, I do not know. She does, though, and I have no doubt the plan is already clearly outlined under that head of fair brown hair.”
“So you do not believe I can do it, eh?” chided Grace, favoring the officer with a brilliant smile.
“Do not believe – Mrs. Gray, are you a mind reader?” demanded the general.
“When a mental process is reflected in a face as it has been in yours for the last five minutes, the reading is easy.”
The general shrugged his shoulders in true French form.
“I give up,” he exclaimed.
“I wish the walls of this ancient place might be read as easily,” added Grace. “Do you think the ladies can stand a climb to the top of the mountain?”
“Oh, yes; it is not a long nor a very hard climb, I should judge from the looks of it,” replied the general.
It was decided to leave the hampers at the lunching place, but to carry their mess kits. Grace told Ike Fairweather to take the rope with him, as it might be needed. In her own kit she carried a ball of stout twine, ammunition for her rifle and for the automatic that swung in its holster.
“All is ready. Please take your time, ladies, and if you tire, you must say so,” she directed.
“We follow where you lead, Mrs. Gray,” promised Miss Cartwright dramatically.
“Don’t make rash promises, Miss Cartwright,” warned the general. “You don’t know what you are promising. I think I do.”
“Just wait and see,” teased the young woman.
It was a hard hike to the brow of the mountain, taking nearly two hours, at the rate they traveled. The party finally came out on a broad table of rock, from which the mountain sloped away a short distance, then took a sheer drop of a thousand feet.
None of the party ventured to look over the brink until Grace finally did so, then turned laughingly to Miss Cartwright.
“Are you following?”
“Yes.” Miss Cartwright stepped up beside Grace and gazed off over the great precipice.
Suddenly the army officer’s sister swayed dizzily, and, had Grace lost her head for a second, a disaster probably would have resulted. Grace’s arm quickly encircled the waist of Miss Cartwright and drew her back, now in a fainting condition. The dizzy height had been too much for the young woman’s nerves. Grace gravely handed her over to Colonel Cartwright.
“I am sorry, sir, that I encouraged her. It was not prudent of me at all,” she said.
Grace, after studying the face of the cliff for a few moments, stepped back and spoke to Ike Fairweather, pointing to a projecting tower of rock that crowned the tableland like a monument.
“You can snub the rope around that,” she said.
“Mrs. Gray, surely you are not going to try that desperate descent?” begged General Gordon.
“Try is the word, General. If you think it advisable, take Mrs. Gordon and Miss Cartwright for a walk. To see me go over may upset them. The descent is perfectly safe, provided the rope doesn’t break. I have my reasons, other than mere curiosity, for attempting to get to the Community House down there.”
“Very good, Mrs. Gray. Depend upon me for whatever I may be able to do. I think I understand your real motive. Do not worry about the ladies; if they cannot stand it to see you go over they can turn their backs on you.”
Preparations were quickly made, Miss Cartwright observing wide-eyed and a little pale. Ike had made a sling with a board bottom for Grace to sit in. In addition to this, she slipped a loop of the rope under her shoulders. Grace then produced the ball of strong twine from her kit, and made an end fast to the “monument.” She directed that some one keep hold of the twine at all times for signals.
“One pull will mean that I have a message to send up; two pulls will advise you that I am to be hauled up,” Grace informed them. “Are you ready?”
“Ready!” announced the four men in chorus. General Gordon added that he would stand at the upper edge of the slope and watch Grace over its lower edge, from which point she would have a sheer drop of what he estimated to be about three hundred feet to the cliff dwelling.
“Loyalheart! Do be careful,” admonished Elfreda anxiously. “I know there is no use trying to dissuade you from attempting this foolish thing, so we can do nothing except to wish you luck.”
“Yes you can – you can hold fast to the rope,” corrected Grace. Smiling and nodding to her companions, she took a final look about, then crept cautiously down to the edge of the slope, where the sheer drop began, waved a hand and disappeared over the edge of the precipice.
CHAPTER XXIII
BETWEEN EARTH AND SKY
BEFORE starting on her perilous venture, Grace had directed that the rope be paid out slowly, so as not to set up so much friction that the rope would be in danger of burning.
As she went over, Grace took one look below her and closed her eyes, but after a few moments she summoned her courage, opened her eyes and looked down. She could see, directly beneath her, the ledge under which the Cliff Dwellers’ Community House had been constructed. Out in front of the ledge were the white stone walls and part of the roof of the ancient structure, which she was on her way to explore.
“Getting down is easy. It is getting back that is going to be the big problem,” muttered the plucky girl. “It is worth the risk. Think of it, Grace Harlowe, you possibly will be the first human being to set foot on that shelf of rock in ten centuries, perhaps ten times ten centuries.”
Grace wriggled and twisted herself into position for a suitable landing, and, as it was, she grazed the wall of the cliff dwelling, slipping down the side of it, kicking out vigorously to keep from tearing her clothing on the protruding points of stone, until her feet touched the ground.
“Down! Harlowe luck is with me thus far.” Grace hastily penciled a note, reading:
“Arrived safely. Send the string back with a small stone to weight it. Fine view down here. I start exploring. Don’t worry if you don’t hear from me for an hour or so.”
One tug on the line, and the Overton girl was rewarded by seeing her message slowly rising at the end of the twine.
Grace thereupon took account of her surroundings. With her glass she picked up the Lodge, then the tiny dots that she knew were the Overland Riders’ tents. It was a clear view to the camp, and, as Grace described it to herself, a good shooting range.
Now began her explorations. There were heaps of rotted stone and adobe mortar all about, but taking it all in all, the community house appeared to be in an excellent state of preservation. Grace took her time, and moved slowly, using extreme caution, not knowing what emergency she might have to meet at any moment. Over heaps of stone and rubbish she climbed to such chambers as she could reach. The ceilings in the Community House were so low that she was obliged to stoop; window apertures were no more than six inches across and of equal height, but the light shed by these was sufficient to enable her to pick her way about.
The mustiness of centuries hung heavy on the air despite the ventilation, and birds, disturbed by her entrance, gave Grace a start as they winged their way toward the light. Not a relic, however, did the Overton girl find in her search of the chambers.
On coming out of the cliff dwelling, Grace suddenly halted and sniffed the air.
“That smells like a dead fire,” she muttered. “Perhaps I have company here.” Picking her way cautiously in under the ledge that formed a partial roof for the ancient Community House, Grace found herself in a vast, tunnel-like opening. Black darkness lay ahead of her, but the odor of a dead fire grew stronger in her nostrils as she proceeded.
Grace now brought her flash lamp from her pocket, passing it to her left hand, and, holding the automatic in a firm grip in her right, she advanced, prepared for emergencies.
She examined the walls briefly. From their smoothness, it occurred to Grace that water had once flowed through the tunnel. How far back the tunnel led into the mountain she could not even guess, but it was reasonable to suppose that it was not a waterway when the Cliff Dwellers lived there.
“I am getting near it! The dead fire odor is growing stronger!” Grace told herself in a whisper. “I believe my surmises are correct. How I wish one of the men were with me. However, I’m in it and must go through with it,” she muttered.
Using her flash lamp to guard against stepping into a pitfall, the Overton girl picked her way cautiously along. Here and there were huge crevices in the wall of the tunnel, which, as Grace described it to herself, was in reality “the rear yard of the ancient Cliff Dwellers.”
The crevices, as she shot rays of light into them, were dark and forbidding, but, looking back, the white towers of the Community House stood out reassuringly.
“Ah!”
Grace had stepped into a heap of ashes and they felt warm under her feet. Stooping over and running her hand into the mass she found that the ashes, at the bottom, really were warm.
“There has been a recent fire here, but the ashes are several hours old. I wish Tom were here. He could tell me, within half an hour, just how long ago this heap was a blazing fire. Let me reason this out.” Grace leaned against the wall and reflected.
“Some one has been in this place within a dozen hours or so. It is reasonable to assume, too, that they did not come over the precipice; hence there must be some other entrance, some other way, and perhaps an easier one. I am going on.”
Grace started ahead resolutely, now and then flashing a ribbon of light to the floor directly ahead of her. Her keenness was rewarded a few moments later, and the Overton girl, dropping to her knees, examined the rocky floor with great care.
What Grace had discovered was the imprint of a heavy-soled boot, faint but clearly defined. Her next discovery was a frying pan, some tin plates and a heap of bones that looked as if they might be beef bones.
“They surely live well up here. I – ”
Grace jumped. That is, her nerves did; her body did not move at all, but she heard her heart beat, and it was pounding fast and hard. What had disturbed and startled her was a groan, a distinctly human groan, and then deep silence settled over the tunnel, broken only by the faint, repressed breathing of Grace herself.
The natural impulse was to turn on her light, but Grace Harlowe was too prudent to do that just yet. She preferred to wait and listen. This policy produced results. A second groan, more prolonged than before, followed.
It was a human groan of distress that she had heard, though whether real or feigned the girl was unable to decide in her own mind, but she now realized that she must make the advance herself. Arriving at this decision, Grace turned on her light, and, with the automatic revolver thrust ahead of her, ready for instant use, she began a cautious search for the source of the voice.
“Groan again, so I may know where you are,” she called softly. “If you are hoping to play a trick on me I shall shoot on sight!”
The response came back almost at once, the voice sounding ahead of her and to the right side of the tunnel. She moved forward with renewed caution, and, a few steps further on, as she flashed her ribbon of light into a niche in the wall of the tunnel, she saw him.
Grace approached cautiously, still holding her weapon at ready, for, though she was looking down on a man, apparently hound and gagged, she proposed to take no more than the absolutely necessary chances.
Leaning over, with the revolver pointed down at him, Grace turned the light of her lamp into the face of the owner of the voice. As she did so she uttered an exclamation of amazement.
CHAPTER XXIV
GRACE SOLVES THE MOUNTAIN MYSTERY
“JOE SMOKY FACE!” cried Grace Harlowe. “What does this mean?”
“Me kill um!” raged the Indian who had guarded their ponies on the night of the Overland Riders’ arrival, after Grace had removed the gag from his mouth.
“Kill whom?”
“Con Bates and Ben Jackson.”
Grace freed the man from his bonds.
“Are there rifles here?”
“Yes.”
“Get two, quick, if you know where they are. Is any one else here in this place?”
“All gone. Not come back till moonrise. When come back mebby kill white girls. Catch Joe Smoky Face and fetch here.”
“Joe, did you shoot that arrow into our camp to warn us?” demanded Grace, a sudden light flooding her mentality.
“Me shoot arrow.” Joe ran down the tunnel a few yards and returned with two rifles, both loaded.
“Now we are all right, if you are certain that no one will come here. Tell me as quickly as you can, what happened to you.”
From the Indian’s monosyllables, and, using her imagination freely, Grace inferred that Joe had overheard the bandits when they were spying on the Overland Riders’ camp, and, after the men had gone away as Joe supposed, he had fired the arrow into the camp to warn Grace Harlowe and her friends. The bandits, however, had not gone away, and when they saw what Joe had done, they suddenly fell upon him, bound and gagged him and carried him to their lair in the ancient Community House of the Cliff Dwellers.
“Was Con Bates one of those men?” she asked.
“Him come along.”
“Who is Ben Jackson?”
“Bad man who follow white girls till Bates make escape at Globe and come along to help. Much bad men. Steal much. Plenty here. You find. Joe Smoky Face know where.”
“You say they have gone to Globe. Con Bates would not dare to go there. How did he get out of jail?”
“Not know. Mebby he not go Globe to-day. Ben Jackson he go. Mebby Con he stay in bushes.”
“How many men come here?”
Joe counted six on his fingers.
“Show me the way out,” demanded Grace.
“Hole in mountain. Joe show. Joe show other things.”
The Indian did. He led the Overton girl into dark recesses in the wall of the tunnel, where, by the light of her lamp, she saw plunder that made her eyes widen. It was mostly small merchandise, but valuable. There were gold and silver articles and some precious stones, but not many, that Grace, in her hasty examination, thought were of considerable value.
In another cache there were silks, carefully wrapped, and a regular arsenal of rifles, revolvers and ammunition, all probably stolen. Grace Harlowe’s eyes glowed.
“Were those men here last night – I mean did they shoot from out there?” pointing to the mouth of the cave of the Cliff Dwellers.
“Yes, shoot at white girls’ camp.”
“I thought so. When I saw the flashes from their rifles, and this morning looked at this place with my glasses, I made up my mind that the shots had been fired from here. Joe, we must catch these men, every one of them. Do you think you can get back to your people without being seen, provided any of the bandits should still be about your camp?”
“Joe get back.”
“Very good. Go back to your camp on the mountain side and send a trustworthy Indian to get the sheriff. I will send a letter by you to the clerk at the Lodge, and he can telephone for the sheriff. When the sheriff and his party are found, have them led here, but do not try to get here until dark. Do the bandits keep a guard on the outside of this place at night?”
“Joe not know.”
The Indian was trotting ahead, Grace lighting the way with her lamp. She observed that the instinct of the Indian enabled him to follow the outward trail with as little difficulty as if he had been over it many times.
“Come end now,” finally announced Joe, the trail having narrowed down so that they were obliged to go in single file. It was dark as night where they were, but Joe knew how to reach the light. She saw him put a shoulder to the low roof and lift from a narrow opening a slab of rock, which he cautiously shoved an inch or so to one side, and for several minutes stood with eyes at the crack he had made.
“All gone,” said Joe, pushing the slab of rock aside.
Following her guide, Grace crawled out and looked about her. The opening through which she had emerged was on the sloping side of the mountain, well screened by cactus. The Indian replaced the slab of stone, which then looked to be a part of the cavern wall.
“Very simple,” muttered Grace, gazing about her and fixing every detail of the surroundings in her mind. The Overton girl then wrote a note to the clerk of the Lodge, telling him exactly what was to be done, and that she would remain on watch awaiting the arrival of the officers after dark. She handed the note to Joe Smoky Face.
“Joe, you will come back with the sheriff, so he will not miss the place. I have written that you will. Go, now!”
The Indian trotted away and Grace saw him secrete the rifle he had brought out with him. Following his departure Grace got her bearings and started around the mountain to rejoin her friends whom she knew were anxiously awaiting a signal from her.
The amazement of the Overland Riders and their friends when Grace came walking in among them was too great for words for a few seconds; then the Overlanders gave a shout.
“We must pack up at once and the party must return to the Lodge. I’ve made a great discovery and solved the mystery of the Apache Trail,” she announced.
Grace then briefly related the story of her adventure and told the party what she wished them to do.
“Above all, say nothing to any person outside of our circle. Do not even discuss our discovery among yourselves where possibly you may be overheard, for those men probably have confederates. I wish them to come back so we may capture them. Miss Cartwright, will you ride my pony back to camp?”
“Yes. Why?”
“So that the same number of persons may return on horseback. Go directly to the camp, then walk back to the Lodge. I shall remain on the mountain to watch the tunnel entrance.”
“Not alone, Mrs. Gray. Surely, we cannot permit you to do that,” objected General Gordon. “I shall remain there with you.”
Grace shook her head.
“It won’t do. Your absence would cause comment, which is exactly what I do not wish. Having rifle and revolver I shall be able to take care of myself. All that I shall attempt to do is to watch for the return of the bandits and make certain that they do not post a sentry outside. You must be going now, but for goodness sake pull up that rope and string, and leave me some food to carry in my kit. It is probable that I shall not be back until late to-night.”
Ike hurriedly packed up, and after good-byes had been said the party started down the mountain side on their way to the point where their horses were tethered. Grace soon lost sight of them, then, tucking the rifle under her arm, she walked slowly around the mountain, and down, until she came within sight of the opening through which she had made her exit from the tunnel.
After watching for some time, Grace sought a hiding place, which she found in a slight depression behind a shelf of shale rock. She knew that there were long, weary hours of waiting ahead of her, but Grace was determined, now that the opportunity was hers, to turn the tables for good on the men who had tormented the Overland Riders.
Con Bates had escaped; how, she could not imagine, and Ben Jackson had assumed to himself the task of revenging the bandits’ grudge against the Overland outfit that had objected to being held up and robbed.
Grace passed most of the time resting, lying back gazing at the sky and the mountains that stretched away for many miles. At dusk she nibbled at her luncheon, then settled down in earnest to her vigil. A new moon hung high in the west, which she knew would shed a faint light on her elevated position until well into the evening.
Ten o’clock came, but still no bandits. A few moments after ten o’clock, however, Grace’s patience was rewarded. She discovered a crouching figure, which at first she took to be an Indian, but a moment later saw that it was a white man. He was followed at intervals by five others, all cautiously approaching the tunnel entrance. After a careful scrutiny of the entrance, and, apparently finding nothing wrong there, the six men entered, after one had removed the stone. After the six men had crawled in, the tunnel opening was closed behind them.
Grace waited a few moments, then, springing up, ran to the scene, and began piling rocks on the entrance slab, some being so heavy that she was obliged to roll them. This she continued until her hands were blistered and her back was aching desperately.
“There! I’d like to see a bandit get out now,” emphasized the Overland Rider, drawing off a little way, and sitting down with rifle at ready in her lap.
Not a sound was heard from the tunnel entrance for nearly an hour, then a faint tapping there indicated to her that the bandits were trying to break their way out, the prisoner’s escape, no doubt, having been discovered.
Grace fired her rifle into the pile of rocks, whereupon the tapping ceased, but her vigil became an anxious one from that moment on. Shortly after midnight the Overton girl discovered a shadowy figure creeping toward her over the rocks. Grace eyed it keenly, then levelled her rifle at it.
“Hands up!” she commanded sharply.
Joe Smoky Face rose and waved a hand.
“All right! I know you,” called Grace in a relieved tone of voice. “Where is the sheriff?”
“Him come.” Joe uttered a whistle, whereupon Jim Collins, with his deputy, Wheaton, and a posse of ten men, including General Gordon and Lieutenant Wingate, clambered up the rocks.
“Your men are over there, Sheriff. I have blocked the entrance, and believe they are near it now,” Grace informed the sheriff as he came up to her.
“Is there no other way by which they can get out, Miss?” he asked.
“No, sir.”
“You know the lay of the land; what do you suggest?”
“Remove the rocks that I have piled up until you come to the slab. Tell the men – there are six in there – to lay down their arms and come out, one at a time. Should they refuse, you might tell them you will keep them bottled up until they surrender, even if it takes a month.”
The loose stones were immediately removed, as Grace had suggested; whereupon the sheriff delivered his ultimatum to the bandits. Lieutenant Wingate, in the meantime, had formed the posse on the upper side of the tunnel opening.
Several minutes elapsed without a sound being heard from the tunnel, then a voice called to Sheriff Collins.
“We surrender! Don’t shoot!”
“Look out for tricks!” warned Grace Harlowe. “I think that is Con Bates speaking.”
The bandits pushed the slab from the opening and came out singly and apparently unarmed.
“Look out!” cried Grace sharply.
Almost in the same instant a revolver in the hands of Con Bates was fired. The five other bandits instantly began banging away at the posse, at the same time scattering and starting to run.
“Let ’em have it low! Don’t kill them, please,” begged Grace.
Sheriff Collins downed Con Bates with a bullet in his shoulder.
Grace took no part in the battle, but sat crouched, chin in hands, narrowly watching the fight while bullets whined over her head and ricochetted from the rocks on either side of her.
The five bandits remaining after their leader had been downed were tumbled over with bullets in their legs in almost that many seconds. But the five were plucky. They struggled to their feet and again began firing. Two volleys from the posse put them down a second time, and this time they stayed down.
“That is what I call good shooting!” declared Grace Harlowe, standing up.
“Great work! Great work!” approved the general.
“A fine bunch of critters, you are!” raged the sheriff, addressing the defeated bandits. “Ought to finish you right here. Thank this woman that I don’t do that very thing. I’ll do it anyhow if any one of you galoots so much as bats an eyelash. Throw those guns away!” roared Mr. Collins.
The Bates gang gave up and were quickly manacled and searched for further weapons. The prisoners secured, Sheriff Collins strode over to Grace.
“Shake, Pard!” he cried, thrusting out a wiry brown hand. “Bet you’d face an old she bear with cubs, an’ laugh at her when she made murder faces at you. We won’t have any more trouble with these critters. I reckon we’ve got the whole gang now, an’ the trail is clear, thanks to you an’ your friends.”
At Grace’s suggestion, Joe led the sheriff and some of his men to the tunnel, where a large amount of valuable plunder was recovered. That night the prisoners were bound to horses and started for the jail at Globe where, this time, they remained until eventually sentenced to long terms in prison. Of Belle Bates, no trace was found. The guests of the Lodge next day gave a dance in honor of the Overlanders, to whom belonged the honor of ridding the Apache Trail of the last band of desperate men that had preyed upon it.
General Gordon and his party left a day later, after good-byes had been regretfully said. At Grace’s suggestion a purse was made up by the girls for Joe Smoky Face, after he had assisted Ike Fairweather to pack the equipment in readiness for moving next day, and early on the following morning the Overland Riders set out in their saddles for the long journey to Phœnix, where they arrived a week later, tanned by sun and weather, eyes sparkling and spirits effervescing.
That day they bade farewell to the faithful old stagecoach driver, who had already shipped their ponies by rail, and was to follow the animals on to Globe that night.
In the evening, the Overland Riders held a meeting at the hotel, at which they discussed their future plans. It was decided to make the organization a permanent one, and to seek recreation and adventure in the saddle each season, until they tired of it.
It had been a wonderful vacation, with just enough excitement to make it interesting, as Grace expressed it, leaving the girls of the old Overton Unit better physically and mentally, with a new beauty in face and figure, each better equipped to meet life’s responsibilities through the coming year.
“We have not decided where we shall go on our next journey,” reminded Elfreda Briggs next day, after the Overlanders had settled themselves in a Pullman car for the homeward journey.
“I was just thinking of a suggestion offered by Mr. Fairweather,” said Grace. “In telling me of the adventures of a cousin of his on the American Desert, he casually mentioned that some time we should try to make the journey across it in the saddle.”
“What is there there?” questioned Anne.
“Principally sand and terrific heat. Crossing the desert on horseback really is a tremendous undertaking, but, if not strenuous enough to satisfy us, we might even essay Death Valley. Mr. Fairweather said we could get his cousin to act as our guide. I am rather inclined toward the Great American Desert.
“Alors! Let’s go,” urged Elfreda Briggs.
