"It would be most remarkable if he should turn out to be my father, whom I have believed dead all these years."
"It would be a miracle," declared Professor Scotch. "But do you know you can find Water Pocket Canyon again?"
"Yes, for I have Ben Barr to guide me. He will take me there."
"Well," said the little professor, "I wish you success, but I would not go back there for the worlds, and I absolutely refuse to let my boys go."
"I suppose we'll have to humor the professor in this instance," laughed Frank. "Our last escapade came near being fatal for all of us."
"You owe your salvation to Professor Septemas Scudmore," declared that individual, importantly. "But for his marvelous invention, the Eagle, you would have fallen victims to untamed savages."
"Begorra, thot's roight!" nodded Barney. "Th' 'Agle is a great birrud."
"It is bound to make me famous the world over, and send my name ringing down the corridors of time."
"But what of poor Miskel?" asked Frank. "She is heartbroken over the death of her father. She knows nothing of the world at large, and——"
"Under the circumstances," said Walter, "I feel that it is my duty to see that she does not come to harm. As long as she wants it, she shall have a home with my folks, if she will accept."
"Be aisy, me b'y!" chuckled Barney, roguishly. "It's a swate purty face she has, an' Oi'm thinkin' ye're a bit shtuck on her."
"Oh, come!" protested Walter, blushing. "I have known her but four days, and——"
"Ye've made good progress, me lad. Oi notice thot you have done firrust-rate comfortin' her. It's an invoite to th' weddin' Oi warnt, an' Oi think Frankie would look foine as th' bist man."
"If the wedding ever takes place, you shall be invited."
The mystery of Old Solitary remains still, for he was never found; although Walter and Ben Barr did make their way into Water Pocket Canyon once more. The ruins of the Danite village were found, also human bones, picked clean by wolves and vultures. No living thing seemed to remain in the vicinity, and the silence and shadow of death hung over the place.
Old Solitary's cave was deserted. It is possible that, after all, the strange man fell a victim to the savages; but it is more likely that, being deranged, he was spared by them, and they made him a great medicine man among them. Perchance he is living with them to-day on the Navajo reservation.
"I think we are well out of that," said Frank, when it was all over. "I want no more of the murderous Danites."
"Humph, I told you to keep off," grunted Professor Scotch. "But you'll soon run into equal peril, I'll warrant."
"No, professor—only sight-seeing in the future."
"And where?"
"Yellowstone Park, the great National reservation."
"Hurro!" cried Barney. "Just the sphot Oi've been wantin' to see."
"Yes, I'd like to see the park myself," said the professor. "We'll be safe there."
But were they? Let us wait and see.
CHAPTER XXIV.
YELLOWSTONE PARK.
"Hurro!"
"What is it, Barney?"
"Boofaloes, Frankie!"
"Buffalo?"
"Sure, me b'y!"
"Where?"
Frank scrambled eagerly to the crest of the ridge on which his friend was perched.
They were in the heart of that picturesque wonderland about the head waters of the Yellowstone River, known as the National Park.
Frank had a camera slung at his back, and for three days he had been trying to get a "shot" with it at a buffalo, having been told there was a small herd of the nearly extinct creatures somewhere in that region.
Neither of the boys had the least desire to kill one of the animals, and a "shot" with the camera at close range would have satisfied them.
And now, in the grassy valley below them, at a distance of half a mile, they could see five of the animals they sought. The creatures were grazing, with the exception of the largest of the herd, which seemed to be standing on guard, now and then snuffing the wind.
The moment Frank saw them he clutched his companion, drawing him backward and down behind some bowlders.
"Pwhat's th' matther wid yez?" spluttered Barney, in surprise.
"If we expect to get near enough to photograph those creatures, we must get out of this right away."
"Whoy?"
"Did you observe the old fellow who is standing on guard? Peer out and you can see him. He is headed this way."
"Pwhat av thot? He can't see us, me b'y."
"He might not see us, but he is liable to smell us."
"At this distance? Go on wid yer foolin', Frankie!"
"I am not fooling; I am in earnest when I say he is liable to smell us. We are on the wrong side of that herd, if so few may be called a herd."
"Whoy on th' wrong soide?"
"We are to windward."
"Not doirectly."
"No, not directly. If we had been, those creatures would be scampering off already. Their sense of scent is remarkable."
"Is it a jolly ye're givin' us?"
"Not a bit of it, Barney; I am in earnest. Their power of sight is not particularly acute, but it is said that they 'can smell a man a mile.'"
"Thin how can we ivver induce th' bastes to sit fer their photygrafs?"
"We'll have to get on the other side of them, and creep up behind that small clump of timber."
"It will take an hour to get round there, me b'y."
"All of that; but I shall be well repaid if I can obtain a picture of some real wild buffalo. What a sight it must have been to behold one of those immense herds which once covered the plains 'from horizon to horizon,' as we are told. Now it is a known fact that there are less than fifty wild buffaloes in existence. A little more than fifteen years ago it was said that about three hundred thousand Indians subsisted almost entirely on the flesh of the buffalo."
"An' is thot roight?"
"It is right, Barney. The hide-hunter has destroyed the buffalo. The creatures were slaughtered by thousands, stripped of their hides, and their carcasses left to rot and make food for wolves and vultures."
"An' wur there no law to stop th' killin' av thim?"
"No. If there had been, it could not have been enforced on the great plains. The railroad, civilization, and the white man's lust for killing, which he calls sport, doomed the buffalo.
"But this is not getting a picture of 'real wild buffalo.' I have pictures of Golden Gate Pass, Fire Hole Basin, Union Geysers, and almost everything else but wild buffalo, and I have vowed I would not leave the park till I had one of the latter. Come on."
He backed from the crest of the ridge and down the slope, Barney following. In a few moments the boys could rise to their feet and make their way along.
Both were armed, for it was not known what danger they