The Border Boys Across the Frontier | Page 7

such a spot after their long
wanderings on the hot desert, was delightful, indeed. Presently, too,
came to their ears the tinkling sound of flowing water.
"It's the overflow from them old-timers' well at the base of the mesa,"
pronounced Pete, listening.
"Yes, and here it is," cried Jack, who had been riding a short distance in
advance, and had suddenly come across a small stream.
The water was but a tiny thread, but it looked as welcome just then as a
whole lake. Cautioning the boys to keep their ponies back, Pete took a
long-handled shovel from one of the packs, and soon excavated quite a
little basin. While he had been doing this, the boys had had to restrain
their thirst, for the ponies were almost crazy with impatience to get at
the water. It required all the boys' management, in fact, to keep them
from breaking away and getting at the water. In the heated condition of
the little animals, this might have meant a case of foundering. At last
Pete let the thirsty creatures take a little water, and afterward they were
tethered to a clump of brush, while the boys themselves assuaged their
pangs. After their first ravenous thirst was quenched--which was not
soon--they took turns in dashing water over each other's heads,
removing the last traces of the sand-storm. This done, they all declared
that they felt like new men,--or boys,--and a unanimous cry for supper
arose.
"Let me see, now," mused Pete, gazing up at the purplish, black heights
of the mesa above them, "as I recollect it, there's only one path up thar.
The good book says, foller the strait and narrer path, but it don't say
nothing about doing it in the dark, so I reckon that the best thing we can
do will be to camp right under that bluff thar, whar the water comes out,

till it gets to be daylight."
This was agreed to be an excellent plan, and, accordingly, the stock
having been tethered out amidst the bunch-grass, the packs were
unloaded, and the work of getting a camp in shape proceeded apace. In
that part of New Mexico, although it is warm enough by day, nightfall
brings with it a sharp chill. It was decided, therefore, to rig up the tents
and sleep under their protection. The three canvas shelters of the bell
type were soon erected, and then, with mesquite roots, Coyote Pete
kindled a fire and put the kettle on. Supper consisted of corned beef,
canned corn and canned tomatoes, with coffee, hard biscuit and cheese.
"I'll bet we're the first folks that have eaten a meal here for many a long
day," said Jack, looking about him, after his hunger had been satisfied.
"It is, in all probability, fifteen hundred years or more since the first
inhabitants of this mesa dwelt here," announced the professor.
"My! My! You could boil an egg in that time," commented Pete,
drawing out his old black briar and lighting it. He lay on one elbow and
began to smoke contemplatively.
The others did not speak for a few moments, so engrossed were they
with the ideas that the professor had summoned up. Once, perhaps, this
dead, black, empty mesa above them had held busy, bustling life. Now
it stood silently brooding amid the desolation stretched about it, as
solitary as the Sphinx itself.
The spot at which they were camped was the sheer, or cliff side of the
mesa. At the other side they knew, from Coyote Pete's description,
were numerous openings and a zig-zag pathway leading up to the very
summit. It was on this summit, which according to the most accurate
information obtainable had once been used for the sacrificial rites of
sun worship, that the professor expected to find the relics for which he
was searching.
For an hour or two the lads discussed the dead-and-gone mesa dwellers,
with an occasional word from the professor, who was deeply read on

the subject. This was all so much Greek to Pete, who solemnly smoked
away, every now and then putting in a word or two, but for the most
part lying in silence, looking out beyond the black shadow of the mesa
across the moonlit desert toward the rocky hills to the south.
Suddenly, the lanky cowboy leaped to his feet with a yell that
punctured the silence like a pistol-shot. In two flying leaps, he had
bounded clear over the professor's head, and was in among the tents,
searching for his pistol. Before one of the amazed group about the fire
could collect his senses at the sudden galvanizing of Coyote Pete, he
was back among them again.
"Wow!" he yelled into the night, "come on, there, you, whoever you are!
Come on, I say! I'll