VII: The Old Men in Rain God’s Cave
AS I DREW THE CURTAINS, I saw that it was now quite dark outside; the moon had not yet come up. Hannah struck a match to the lamp, and we somehow did feel better, sitting in its light. Then, as before, there came a soft tapping upon the door, without our having heard footsteps nor creaking of the flimsy porch boards.
“It is the young Hopi,” I whispered.
“Yes. But make sure of it,” Hannah told me; and I called out: “Who is there?”
“I, your friend,” came the hissed answer in the voice that we knew, and when I had taken down the bar, the Hopi stepped quickly inside, and we saw that he held in his left hand, close up against his breast, a short, thick-bodied bow and a few arrows.
“Oh, where did you find those?” Hannah cried, as I slammed the door bar ba
