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Just then Father grabbed John by the shoulder. Ugh! it was horrid when Father took hold that way, for it usually meant a whipping. “Gee whiz!” Bob exclaimed. “Guess Taylor has gotten wise and stuck a bunch around here to sit on the Mexicans if they start anything. Didn’t think he had it in him!” They had crossed the river and were going down stream. Here there was a gentle rise in the ground. About halfway to the top of this hill the Indian motioned them to stay where they were and then, taking their obedience for granted, dropped on hands and knees and started to crawl rapidly the remainder of the way..

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“Why do you think he will come here?” asked Bob, amazed at the Indian’s tactics. He didn’t for a moment doubt that Feather-in-the-Wind knew what he was about, yet it surprised him and he wanted an explanation. “Don’t you do it! It’s really my turn.” “Oh, because I am heir of Kingthorpe, you know, and because everybody likes to go to a party.” Jerry recognized the type at once. It was a desert rat, one of those old men who, lured by the dream of gold, haunt the desert, usually alone. Years pass over their heads in the search which never ends. At last the gold mine that they will find some day becomes merely the excuse not the aim of the unending pilgrimage. The desert, the loneliness is claiming them. If they found a mine worth the developing, probably they would sell it and blow in the proceeds and be off again as soon as possible. They have been too long away from civilization for anything to surprise them. The desert is mysterious, the loneliness makes everything possible..