Which was a very fortunate thing for Mr. Inwood, otherwise he could not have failed of discovering himself to him. Sheltered by the shade of the shrubbery, he made as hasty examination as possible of the contour of this interior basin, but could discover nothing more than that it was oblong in shape, and quite even around its edges.
It was while engaged in this survey that the man arose and looked down into the water, as if he saw something suspicious.
“There’s _something_ there!” he muttered in an audible voice, “and I’ve heard it more than once. It’s a queer fish, I think.”
The queer fish, at this juncture, deemed it prudent to sink down and retreat to the outer surface of the lake, which place he reached just in time to see his man standing along shore with a huge pole, as if watching for him to rise. Fortunately, he was so close to the shore, as to be in shadow, and, feeling his way along, he speedily reached land, where he waited until his friend’s attention was called in another direction, when he crawled out, somewhat weakened by his long habitation in the water.
But the object of his reconnoisance, so far as possible, was obtained, and he set out on his return. He experienced some difficulty in recovering his clothing, but succeeded at last, and started rapidly homeward. He was not a little alarmed upon reaching the place to find that neither Jim nor Edwin was there.
Young Edwin Inwood had been deprived so long of his hunt, that he determined to improve his time to the utmost. He took a direction exactly opposite to the one pursued by his brother, and soon found himself in the midst of the wood which contained their new home, where it was open and easily traveled.
It was his wish to secure an antelope, which were quite abundant in this section, although almost entirely unknown a little further south, and he walked very carefully, well aware of the acuteness of their hearing. A quarter of a mile or so brought him to a broad, wild ravine, and, looking down this, the first object that met his eye was a group of Mohave Indians seated around a camp-fire. Three sat smoking, and two were engaged in dressing a fine plump antelope, and preparing it for their supper.
They were fully a hundred feet below where the boy stood, and several hundred yards distant. He watched them for some time with interest. Each had around his person or near him, one of those brilliant and wonderfully woven blankets, which have made the Indians of the distant southwest known all over the country. They were painted and daubed up like a lot of children’s toys, their coarse black hair hanging loosely over their shoulders, while its usual stiffness was intensified by the rainbow-hued stuff smeared among it. It makes a fellow look hideously comical to see his face of all colors, and there was something in the outlandish look of these Mohaves which would have brought a grim smile to the countenance of him who had scarcely ever laughed.