Explore "Red Mesa" by Warren H. Miller on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Sid whirled swiftly, after Hano had gone. The slight swaying of a medicine skin -- the pelt of an albino big-horn -- told him where the opening to the tunnel was. Lifting it aside, a jagged hole in the lava showed, and from below came up a faint tinge of sulphur smell. Sid thought first of going down into the tunnel and hiding in it somewhere, watching his chance to escape. Then he decided against it. He ought to give Hano all the time he could. That _both_ of them had disappeared would be immediately noticed in the village. He looked around, thinking rapidly about what to do next. A bundle of plumed prayer sticks among the ritual appurtenances of the lodge caught his eye and it gave him the idea he was searching for. Going outside the lodge and closing its door, he secured it with a prayer stick. That sign would signify that the lodge was closed to all but medicine men and would keep out any casual stroller.
It was now nearly sunset. Sid sought out Honanta again but he was not at his lodge. Sounds of busy life came from the grass huts. Fresh meat of the ram was being prepared for an evening feast; more of it was being hung on drying poles to cure in the sun. A knot of young braves was playing the hoop game, rolling the hoop swiftly along a path and striving to pierce it with lances as it sped.