"Amigos," says the old buck. "Mira. We are not Gilas; we are not Mescaleros; we are not Copper-miners; neither Jicarillas, Coyoteros, nor Llaneros." All this very slow and solemn. Very interesting, no doubt; but a _little_ long to a man waiting to see whether he's about to jump the game or not. "No," thinks I; "nor you ain't town-pumps nor snow-ploughs nor real-estate agents--hook yourself up, for Heaven's sake, and let go on your family history." "No," says he, shaking his head. "Nada, I am Yuma--they are Yuma." "I sincerely hope so," thinks I. "And I wish you'd let us in on the joke. I'm dyin' for lack of a laugh this minute." "Si, senores," says he. "We are not Apaches; and we are not now for war. Before, yes. Now we are peaceful. But the white man has put us on reservation at Camp Grant, and there bad white men bother us. We are all braves; we do not wish to be bothered. So we shoot those white men for the sake of peace, and then we come away. We come here last moon. We see this man," pointing to Colin Hiccup. "At first my young men wish to shoot at him, to see him hop, but I say 'no'--we are peaceful; besides, he is a strange white man. I think he is a great chief and comes here to make medicine. Do you not see how small is the rebano and how large the man? And how he dresses like a woman? And there we hear the music he makes. Then I know he is great medicine. It is beautiful music he makes to the Great Spirit. It makes our hearts good. We wait; see you come. See two big medicine men fight, then be friend again. Know, by the hair, both same medicine. To-night sounds the music more and more. We come and see dance. We have council. All say, when dance is over, we ask white man to be chief. Just one chief--two chiefs, like calf with two heads, no good. You choose. We have no chief since Mangas Colorado. He make fight. Fight hard but no good. Now we are for peace. I say it." He threw down his rifle and waited. The other braves dropped their guns, crash! "We will talk," says I, drawing myself up tall. "Buen," says he, and Colin and me withdrew. "Now, my Scotch friend," says I, when we got out of hearin', "we are up against it, bang! It's all right for them Injuns to talk of how peaceful they are, but I'll bet you there ain't a bigot among 'em. If we don't slide down their gutter, they'll do us harm. How're we to decide who puts his neck in the lion's mouth?" But old Colin wasn't listening to me. "They'll make me chief," says he. "I'm tired of herding sheep." His little grey eyes was shining. "Well, you knock me every time," says I. "Do you mean you want to trot with them?" "They stick together--they have a clan."