Chapter 10 THE PROFESSOR'S JOB

Within a few days the professor's tent and cot arrived, and after that Ma Patten pleaded in vain for him to stay with them. The old man was independent and insisted on getting established in his own quarters. He had already chosen a spot in Lost Canyon with the aid of Indian Joe, who knew the best springs and the best place to pitch a tent.

And Professor Gillette could not have had a better helper. Under a huge cottonwood tree, there was a bubbling spring, cool and clear, and down the creek a short distance was a small pool.

"Why, there's my bath room!" laughed the old man. "Talk about modern conveniences, I have them all."

The Merriweather Girls were eager to help the old man get settled. And when the five of them with Tommy Sharpe got to work they soon had everything in order. Tommy levelled a space and beat it down until it was smooth. Judge Breckenridge had suggested that boards be laid for a floor but at this the professor protested vehemently.

"I've come out here to live the simple life, the life of an explorer. I want to rough it, even endure hardships. It will do me good," he asserted, objecting to anything that might seem like luxury.

But after a day or two of trying to cook his meals over a small outdoor fire, he accepted a tiny stove from Mrs. Patten. Primitive living was all right, but it was a waste of time to cook over an open fire.

And one day he returned from a long hike over the hills and settled into a rocking chair that the good neighbor had placed before his door, in his absence, and did not protest but took it gratefully. After a strenuous day, it would be good to drop into the restful depths of an easy chair and enjoy the glories of the canyon.

But he refused her help very decidedly when she dropped in one morning and found him at his weekly wash. His shirts and overalls were spread out on a large flat stone in the creek and he was beating them incessantly with a small paddle.

"I'm enjoying the washing," he declared with a laugh. "I don't mind it at all."

"But your work, your discoveries?" inquired Ma Patten.

"They can wait while I get clean! Anyway I haven't had much luck. The

Indians will give me no help at all."

"Why are you so keen about these Indian relics? We can give you any number of arrowheads and baskets and stuff. You're welcome to them if it will help you any," offered Mrs. Patten sympathetically.

"That's not exactly what I want," the professor said. "I'm interested in American Indians, and have always been considered an authority on the subject. But I'm getting old and younger men are stepping into the field. They think I'm just a musty old professor with nothing but a book knowledge of Indian ruins. So I have to show them."

"What's the use?" answered Ma Patten contemptuously. "These young fellows always can beat us in the end and we might as well give up gracefully."

"But that isn't all. My job's at stake. If I don't do something to get up-to-date I'll be shoved out. They want men who go out and do spectacular things that get them into the newspapers. I was told that my department would have to be snapped up a bit! Isn't that terrible language for educators to use? And if my job goes, I don't know what I'll do. I've got responsibilities, heavy ones."

"Have you a large family, Professor Gillette?" asked the woman.

"No, I have only one daughter but she is an invalid. She was studying to be a dancer and one slippery day in winter she fell and broke her hip. And she has never been able to dance since."

"Oh, that's terrible! The poor child!"

"She's as happy as a lark. She has never given up faith that as soon as she is taken to see a specialist in the city, she will be cured. It is for that operation that I must earn more money. And with the fear of losing my position in the college you can see why I must make good this summer."

"Well, you'll find plenty of Indian signs around these mountains," Mrs.

Patten informed him.

"That's strange!" The professor exclaimed, "That man, Kie Wicks, claims that there never were Indians in these hills. None to speak of, he said. Told me I was barking up the wrong tree. Oh yes, he was quite certain I was going to fail. But I mustn't fail! I can't fail!"

"Of course you won't fail! And you needn't believe a word that Kie Wicks says. He doesn't want people to come into this canyon. He believes in the myth about the treasure and he makes it hard for anyone who comes in. One old prospector had to leave because Kie had it in for him. He just couldn't stay."

"What did Kie Wicks do?" asked the old man.

"Well, for one thing he would sell the prospector meat and at night steal it all back. And the old chap was shot at in the dark and threatened until he gave up after putting in several months working on the claims. So you needn't expect any help from that ruffian," stormed Ma Patten.

"I don't know what to do. I must find that Indian village." Professor Gillette had no notion of giving up, not for all the western bad men he had ever heard about. He had come to Arizona to find an Indian village and that he must do.

"Why don't you go over the hill there? We used to find bits of pottery and arrowheads and even some Indian ornaments made of silver. I have a few of them at home. Be sure to remind me to show them to you. You'll be interested."

The professor's face glowed with excitement. "I'd like to ask you for more particulars as to the exact place," he exclaimed.

"I'll do better than that. Kit will take you over there some day and like as not you'll find just what you are after," Mrs. Patten assured him.

While they were still talking Tommy Sharpe arrived with a note from

Mrs. Breckenridge. It was an invitation to supper that evening.

"Isn't that kind! I'll be so glad to go. She's a beautiful and gracious woman."

"It's a sort of party, I judge," said Mrs. Patten, beaming with pleasure and opening a note that Tommy had passed her. "We're all invited to dinner."

That was Virginia Breckenridge's way of keeping in touch with her neighbors. On learning of Professor Gillette's business in the mountains, she had sent to New York for books on Indian legends, Indian ruins and anything that might give the professor a clue to what he wanted to find. And much to her surprise, a book on Indian legends was written by Anton Gillette.

"Our professor is a modest man," laughed Enid. "Imagine him not telling us that he had written a book. He's got his typewriter with him, I wonder if he is planning another book."

"Let's go and ask him," announced Bet, jumping up and starting toward the door.

"It's ten o'clock! He'll be sound asleep," said Shirley. "Don't you think you can wait until morning?"

Bet had waited and then asked the old man, but she got little satisfaction. The professor was shy about his work.

But that was exactly what he was planning to do. If he could make some discoveries, get some practical knowledge and then write about it, he would save his job and increase his income so that his daughter might get the treatment to restore her health.

A sum of money had been offered to the old man for research work, and he had accepted it gladly. He knew from the history of Arizona that a large Indian village must have been situated in the region of Lost Canyon, and it was here that he hoped to find the burial place of the wealthy chief.

The younger teachers heard of his plan and smiled with condescension. They did not imagine for a minute that the old man could stand the strenuous trip to the southwest and find the Indian village. It was a stunt that they would have hesitated to undertake.

But Anton Gillette was made of different stuff. Here was his chance, he must win out. As he looked into the pale face of his daughter, Alicia, her eyes glowing with hope both for her father and her own future, he had vowed that no hardships would be too great for him to overcome.

And here he was in the mountains, camping in Lost Canyon within, he believed, arm's length of the ruins. But so far he had not found them.

Luck was with him, that he knew. Everywhere from the time he had left home, he had found friends to help him. They gladly gave him advice, and in the case of The Merriweather Girls, they would have been happy to serve him in every way. They were quite indignant when the old man pitched his tent far from the ranch where they could not see him so often.

"It will never do," thought the professor. "I'll get soft if they wait on me and give me the idea that I can't do things for myself."

But the invitation from Virginia Breckenridge was another thing. These visits he loved. They were always helpful. The Judge was as interested in the finding of the ruins now as the old man himself. It was his only way to help the independent professor, who refused all financial aid, and the two men were often seen riding the hills together, speculating on the prospect of an ancient village there.

But still they had not found it, after a week of search.

Someone else was anxious to accompany the old man on his trips. It was

Kie Wicks.

And while Professor Gillette enjoyed the daily visits of the girls and the occasional calls from Judge Breckenridge or Dad Patten, he found the storekeeper very trying. Kie arrived at the tent early and stayed late.

"That man acts as if he were spying on me. I wonder what he's afraid of. There is nothing here to steal that I can see."

This continued for a week and then ended abruptly. After that Kie

Wicks came only once in a long time. This had been Maude's doing.

"You ain't getting no where at all, Kie. You keep that old book-worm from hunting or doing whatever he wants to do. Now if I were you, I'd let old Booky do his searching, then cook up a plan to do him out of whatever he finds."

"Maude, you're a wonder! Why didn't I think of that myself? I couldn't have found a better wife anywhere than you."

So Kie did not appear the next morning.

But it was not until noon that the professor knew that he had been deserted. His patience was at an end so he had risen before dawn and left the tent, striking off over the hills where Mrs. Patten had indicated. He returned at noon with arrowheads and a stone axe but there was no sign of ruins.

But the old man was not discouraged. These signs of Indians merely gave him the necessary urge to investigate.

Before he had finished lunch the girls arrived.

"Where's your bosom friend today?" they asked mockingly. "You and Kie Wicks are almost inseparable. It's quite touching to see such devotion," laughed Bet, who knew of the old man's impatience.

Bet laughed and the contagion of her merriment started the other girls and their voices echoed back to them from the canyon wall opposite.

While they stood there, a strange procession appeared around the bend in the trail. A band of horses one after the other, filed by.

"Poor horses!" exclaimed Bet in sympathy.

"Horses!" sneered Kit. "Those are not horses, they are just racks of bones, that's all. And that's the way most of the Indian ponies look."

The professor was speechless. He watched the procession with interest. Fat squaws rode huddled over their nags, each carrying a baby strapped to her back. Small boys ran beside the horses or clung on behind the mother. The men usually rode free and on one of the animals, the professor saw an old Indian.

"I wish I could talk to him," he whispered to Kit, who was standing near him.

"You'll have your chance before the day is over. They usually camp right here where you are. I'm surprised that Indian Joe suggested this spot. They are not apt to go far away from here."

As Kit spoke the squaw heading the procession stopped, and it looked as if she rolled off her horse as she dismounted. She had evidently found a suitable place to camp. The professor was delighted that it was on the opposite side of the stream where he could watch them. A tepee was made almost before the squaws were all out of their saddles. A large piece of sacking was thrown over small bushes which were tied together at the top to form an arch. This was the only shelter put up by the Indians when on the march.

The men dismounted, sat down by the stream and smoked their pipes, while the women and children scurried about, gathering fire wood and starting a blaze.

In a few minutes they had settled down to life for a few days, the life that the Indians loved, carefree, indolent and happy.

The professor was greatly elated. Here was a chance to watch the modern Indian at least and see how he lived. He would have something to tell his class.

"That's Old Mapia," confided Kit. "He's supposed to be about a hundred years old. You're in luck if you can get him to talk. Some of the young ones will translate for him if he gets stuck. I'll send Old Mary over, if he won't talk to you. She can make him tell stories."

Before the afternoon was over, the professor had invited the old Indian to have a smoke with him, then offered him cookies and other delicacies, and while he accepted without a sign of appreciation, the ice was broken and when the professor began to ask questions the old Indian answered as well as he could, and Young Wolf supplied the missing words that his grandfather had forgotten.

"Yes, once a very long time ago there were many Indians here, a city!" droned the old fellow and the professor edged closer to hear him, fascinated by the wrinkled face.

"My father-my grandfather, yes, he know. Up yonder somewhere a large village, where the Indians make baskets and rugs and silver and pottery, long ago. There were good times then. Indians plenty rich. No white men. My grandfather tell me heaps."

"Where was the village?" asked Professor Gillette.

"No find any more,-gone!" The Indian shook his head and with a wave of his hand indicated every hill surrounding the canyon.

"I think he knows," the professor confided to the girls that afternoon when he went up to see Dad Patten. "But it's probably a secret."

"No, it's on account of the curse," said Kit.

"But what has the curse to do with it?" the professor asked.

"Plenty. The daughter of the old chief still walks at times, and she cursed that village, and the Indians try to forget that there ever was such a place. None of them will go near it."

"What does the ghost look like, Kit?" asked Bet.

"She always wears a costume of deerskin and feathers. And at night she just appears out of nothing in Lost Canyon. One minute she isn't there and the next she is. And when she appears she is supposed to curse those who see her. They run for their lives."

"Is that true?" Joy's voice was trembling. "If it is, I won't ever go into this canyon again."

"Don't worry, Joy. If you are good you'll never see the ghost. Only those who are planning to do wrong see her."

The girls laughed at the timid Joy. "Don't worry, dear," Bet patted her hand lovingly. "I'll take care of you."

"Some say," went on Kit, "that the ruin of the village must be left untouched, and that any one disturbing it will see the ghost."

"And that's why Old Mapia won't talk," said the professor. "He's afraid of the curse. It would hasten matters very much if I could get some reliable information as to the location of the village."

"And are you really going to hunt for the village after that?" Bet's eyes were glowing.

"Yes, I'm not afraid of the curse. I'll find that village. Alicia is expecting me to. I must make good."

"That's the way to talk, Professor Gillette! And remember this, The Merriweather Girls will help you in any way we can. We're not afraid of any curse. We're with you, every one of us."

Joy started to speak. She turned pale then suddenly gave up. "All right. If Bet leads, I follow!"

But there was no wild enthusiasm in her promise.