"
The Indians made camp as usual, the goods being
brought from the canoes and piled up near
the tents. Then night settled down.
"Hello!" cried Tom, awakening the next morning
to find the sun streaming into his tent. "We
must have overslept, Ned. We were to start
before old Sol got in his heavy work, but we
haven't had breakfast yet."
"I didn't hear any one call us," remarked Ned.
"Nor I. Wonder if we're the only lazy birds."
He looked from the tent in time to see Mr.
Damon and the professor emerging. Then Tom
noticed something queer. The canoes were not
on the river bank. There was not an Indian
in sight, and no evidence of Jacinto.
"What's the matter?" asked the young
inventor. "Have the others gone on ahead?"
"I rather think they've gone back," was the
professor's dry comment.
"Gone back?"
"Yes. The Indians seem to have deserted us
at the ending of this stage of our journey."
"Bless my time-table!" cried Mr. Damon.
"You don't say so! What does it mean? What
has becomes of our friend Jacinto?"
"I'm afraid he was rather a false friend," was
the professor's answer. "This is the note he left.
He has gone and taken the canoes and all the
Indians with him," and he held out a paper on
which was some scribbled writing.
CHAPTER XIII
FORWARD AGAIN
"What does it all mean?" asked Tom, seeing
that the note was written in Spanish, a tongue
which he could speak slightly but read indifferently.
"This is some of Beecher's work," was
Professor Bumper's grim comment.
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