as far as we know, they swept off to the southeast," said Rob.
"Yes. They are going to have their snake dance in the Santa Catapinas. Every once in a while they break out and head for there. All the renegade Indian rascals for miles round join them, and besides the dance, which is a religious ceremony, they drink and gamble. Well, I must be getting on, and thank you for your information."
With a wave of his hat, he dug his big blunt-rowelled spurs into his horse's sides and was off in a cloud of dust.
"I'd like to help that fellow get his Indians rounded up," said Rob; "he seems the right sort of a chap."
"Yes, his name is well known around here," rejoined Harry, as the wagon moved onward once more. "He is the best Indian agent that the Moquis have ever had, my father says. He knows them, and can handle them at all ordinary times. He dislikes fuss, however, and hates to see his name in the papers. Otherwise, I guess, he'd have had the soldiers after those fellows."
"I wish we had the Eagle Patrol out here," said Merritt. "We'd soon get after that bunch of redskins."
"Well, why not?" said Harry enigmatically.
"Why not what?"
"Why not form a patrol out here? You know we talked about it in the East in the brief time we had together."
"Say, that's a great idea," assented Rob.
"Who could we get to join, coyotes, rattlers, and jack-rabbits?" asked Tubby solemnly.
"Say, Tubby, this is no joking matter," protested Merritt.
"I'm not joking. Never more serious in my life. A coyote would make a fine scout."
"Yes, to run away," laughed Rob. "But seriously, Harry, could we get enough fellows out here to form a patrol?"
"Sure; I know of a dozen who would join. We could make it a mounted division, and maybe we could help Mr. Mayberry round up his Moquis."
"Say, fellows!" exclaimed Rob, with shining face, "that would be splendid!"
"Maybe we'd get our money back then," grunted Tubby.
"Tell you what we'll do," said Harry. "To-morrow I'll take you with me, Rob, and we'll ride round all the ranches where I know some boys, and get them to sign up. We ought to have a patrol organized in a week at that rate."
"Put me in as a commissariat officer, will you?" asked Tubby.
"That goes without saying," laughed Rob.
As the wagon jolted on over the road, which grew rapidly rougher and rougher, the boys eagerly discussed their great plan.
The foothills were now passed, and they were forging ahead through a deep cañon, or gorge, well wooded on its rugged sides with dark trees and shrubs. Here and there great patches of slablike rock cropped through the soil and showed nakedly among the vegetation. All at once Rob gave a shout and pointed up the hillside at one of these "islands" of rock.
"Look, look!" he shouted. "Something moved up there."
"Something moved," echoed the rest, Indians being the "something" uppermost in every mind.
"Indians?" gasped Tubby.
"No; at least, I don't think so. It was some animal – a huge beast, it seemed to be."
As he spoke there came a crashing of brush far up on the hillside, and every one in the party, even the sleepy Jose, gave vent to a perfect yell of amazement. On one of the rock shelves far above them was poised the massive form of an immense bear. His huge body showed blackly against the sunset-reddened shelf on which he stood. With the exception of one spot of white on his great chest, he was almost black.
"Silver Tip!" shouted Harry Harkness, too excited even to remember his rifle, which lay in the bottom of the wagon.
As he uttered the exclamation, the great ragged brute gave a snort of apparent disdain and clumsily lumbered off into the darker shadows. The next instant he was gone.
CHAPTER V.
AT THE HARKNESS RANCH
"Silver Tip!" echoed Rob, as the immense monarch of the Arizona forest crashed his way off through the undergrowth. "Well, when you told us about him on the steamer, you didn't exaggerate his size. He's as big as a pony."
"Plenty of bear steaks on him," remarked Tubby judiciously.
"I guess you'd find them well seasoned with lead," laughed Harry. "Every hunter in this part of the country has shot at Silver Tip, and plenty of them have hit him, but he always managed to get away. The Indians and the Mexicans are scared of him. They think he is not a bear at all, but some sort of demon in animal form. Eh, Jose?"
"Silvree Teep mucho malo bear," grunted the Mexican. "Only can kill with silver bullet."
"What do you think of that," laughed Harry. "But our hunters have wasted too many lead bullets on old Silver Tip to try him with silver ones. But in spite of his wonderful good fortune hitherto, that bear's day will come."
"Like a dog's," commented Tubby. "You know they say every dog has his day – I guess it's the same way with that old sockdolliger."
"That's so, I guess," rejoined Harry.
Soon afterward they clattered and rumbled down a steep grade leading from the cañon into a wooded, green dip in the foothills. Before them suddenly spread out the vista of apparently illimitable pasture grounds, dotted with feeding cattle. In the foreground, half hidden by big cotton-wood trees, and overtopped by a windmill and water tank, stood a long, low ranch house, with numerous outbuildings and corrals about it.
"That's the range," said Harry, pointing. And as the boys broke into an admiring chorus, the mules plunged forward into a brisk trot. In a short time the outer gate was reached, and opened by dint of pulling a hanging contrivance which worked on a system of levers, that opened and closed the gate at the will of whoever was entering or leaving, without obliging them to dismount.
Around the bunkhouse stood a group of cowboys in leather chapareros and rough blue shirts, awaiting the call to supper in the low, red-painted cook-house. Some of them were gathered about a tin basin, removing the grime of the day. In a large corral were their ponies, browsing on a railed-off stack of grain hay, and occasionally kicking and biting and squealing, as some fractious soul among them instigated a fight.
Suddenly a door in the ranch house opened, and a figure, which the boys recognized as that of Mr. Harkness, emerged. His hands were extended in a hearty welcome, and a smile wreathed his bronzed features.
"Hulloa, boys!" he hailed. "Welcome to the Harkness ranch."
The boys broke into a cheer, and leaping from the wagon, ran forward to greet their kind-hearted host, whom they had last met on the deck of a stranded steamer on the Long Island shoals.
After the first chorus of greetings and questions had passed, Mr. Harkness inquired what had delayed them.
"Indians," rejoined Harry. "They tried to steal mules going down, and they robbed the boys here of their small change on their way up."
The face of the rancher grew graver.
In response to his questions, Rob
