on to all concerned, stating that in his opinion Havasupai
was a fine fellow, and worth trusting. But then that was before he got
into this trouble at this village. If he's a fugitive from justice at
the hands of his own tribe, such a paper isn't worth much, I guess."

"No more it isn't," agreed Frank.

"But all the same he means to stick us with it," chuckled Bob; "for you
can see he's got his hand in his shirt right now, as if searching for
something so valuable that he won't even carry it in his ditty bag."

"That's right, Bob."

"And now he's got in touch with that old letter," grunted Bob. "I
suppose we'll just have to read it to please him."

"You can if you care to," remarked Frank. "As for me, I'm that sleepy I
only want a chance to crawl back into the tent, and take up my
interrupted nap where it broke off."

"But good gracious! do you really mean it?" exclaimed the puzzled Bob.

"Why not?" demanded his chum.

"And leave him loose here, with the horses close by?" Bob went on,
aghast.

At that Frank laughed a little.

"Well," he said, drily; "so far as the horses are concerned, I reckon
our old friend Havasupai will go a long way on foot before he ever tries
to steal a promising looking pony again. As long as he lives he'll
remember how it feels to get a pair of hoofs fairly planted against his
back. So long, Bob. Tell the old fraud he can lie down anywhere he
pleases, and share our breakfast in the morning."

"That's the way you rub it in, Frank; returning evil with good," the
Kentucky boy remarked. "But since you want me to take him in hand, I'll
be the victim, and read his letter of recommendation, though I can
already guess what it will say."

The old Moqui had meanwhile succeeded in getting out the paper which he
seemed to set so much store by. Looking up, and seeing that Frank had
turned away, he offered it to Bob, who took it gravely, and proceeded to
hold it so that the light of the little fire would fall upon the
writing.

Frank was half way in the tent when he heard his chum give utterance to
a shout. He backed out again, and turning, looked hastily, half
expecting to see Bob engaged in a tussle with the old Indian.

Nothing of the sort met his gaze. The Moqui was sitting there, staring
at Bob, who had straightened up, and was starting to dance around,
holding the paper in his extended hand.

"What ails you, Bob?" demanded the other. "Haven't been taken with a
sudden pain, after all