But Cliff did not notice, and a little
judicious manoeuvering brought him into the little valley and headed
straight for the oak, easily identified because Mateo was standing
directly in front of it waving a large white cloth.
They landed smoothly and stopped exactly where Johnny had planned to
stop. He climbed out, Cliff following more awkwardly, and the three of
them wheeled the Thunder Bird under the oak where it was completely
hidden.
It was not until he had come out again into the warm sunshine of
mid-morning that Johnny observed how the kiddies were playing their
part. They had a curious little homemade wheelbarrow rigged, and were
trundling it solemnly up and down and over and around the single mark
made by the tail drag. A boy of ten or twelve rode the barrow solidly
and with dignity, while a thin-legged girl pushed the vehicle. Behind
them trotted two smaller ones, gravely bestriding stick horses.
Casually it resembled play. It would have been play had not Mateo gone
out where they were and inspected the result of stick-dragging and
barrow-wheeling, and afterwards, with a wave of his hand and a few
swift Mexican words, directed them to play farther out from the oak,
where the Thunder Bird had first come to earth.
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