There are some white men who, when they have an unpalatable truth to disclose, do not trouble to choose a tasteful or tactful or kind method of performing the task; and it is to be feared that Herr Froebel was one of these. He knew little about metallurgy, but one glance at the shining lump that he took from the nearest basket told him that the "gold" was pyrites, worth perhaps twopence a cart-load. To the amazement of the Indians he flung it contemptuously away. "That's no gold; it's rubbish; worth nothing," he blurted out. _Not gold?_ But not an Indian believed him; not one of them could see anything but jealousy or intentional insult in this frank piece of information; and the chief and his followers turned threateningly upon him. One and another took up the cry, and Froebel, who had left his only pistol in his holster, fancied that he saw death staring him in the face; for the excitement that he had created in the little community could not be quelled by a man who only knew about a thousand words of the language. He dodged between two mules and into the open; but the crowd of loiterers there had already invented another version of his crime; he was running off with their gold! There was nothing for it but pure and undisguised flight, and he set off as fast as his legs could carry him to the spot where the Niquirans were awaiting him. Sticks, stones, and mud whizzed about his head, and he could hear swift feet pursuing him. Luckily, it was a time of day when no Indian, however fleet of foot, will run very far or fast; his pursuers turned out to be only some mischievous boys who were not going to throw away an opportunity of pelting a fugitive; and, at sight of the grim-looking Niquiran horsemen, who began to move a step or two forward, even these returned to their camp. Mounting his horse again, Froebel looked back and saw that the villagers were making ready to repel any advance of the strangers; they were again collecting their weapons and shouting defiance at the Niquirans. Doubtless these would have had a very easy victory; for they were better armed and infinitely finer men, in the habit of fighting at a moment's notice; while the simple villagers had had no quarrel with their neighbours for a quarter of a century. "There is nothing to fight about; it was all my fault," said Froebel; and he hastily explained the whole matter. His companions laughed, and turned their horses' heads; they were happy-go-lucky, hand-to-mouth folk, to whom the disappointment was far less bitter than to the German; and they rode away cheerily enough, leaving the gold-diggers to bask in their happy ignorance.