“Pick-ne-quan-to would be fair with his white brothers,” he said. “He has looked in their tent, and did not find the Sacred Belt. If it were there it could not escape the eye of Manitou’s messenger. Then why should a white man be able to find it? These white men do not like us. They have tried to drive us away from the village of our friends, the Zunis. The chief knows why this should be so. Send then a warrior to the village to fetch your chief here, Pick-ne-quan-to, that he may be the one to judge what shall be done. If he says that a paleface can do what a Zuni medicine man is unable to accomplish, then we will agree to letting that man enter our tent. But not unless the chief says it. I have spoken.” Apparently the medicine man hardly knew what to say to this. Adrian had managed to get several clever little hints in his speech that appeared to satisfy the other he meant to be honest with the Zunis. And his proposal that they send for the head man of the tribe, was not that right? Braddon immediately saw that there was a chance of a cog slipping in his cleverly arranged scheme unless he could manage in some way to inflame the other; so as to cause him to order his men to seize upon the two boys. He had found a convenient rock behind which he could drop, in case he had cause to believe the others meant to open fire on him; and this gave him new assurance. “Don’t listen to him, Pick-ne-quan-to!” he called out, lustily; “he’s got a glib tongue for a boy, and means to deceive you. While we are waiting for the chief to come they will be doing something to make away with that belt. I tell you the chances are it must be there inside that tent; and if they let my friend assist you in the hunt, he is sure to find it. Don’t you see that they are afraid to say yes to that, Pick-ne-quan-to? And if they were innocent would it matter at all to them who made the search? There is only one thing to be done, then; you should order your braves to make them prisoners. Then whatever you say, it shall be done.” Adrian himself was afraid that the old medicine man might be tempted to give the word that would send those three sinewy warriors flying across the ground that separated them from the two white boys. He hardly knew what they should do under such distressing circumstances, except that he hoped Billie might succeed in at least giving that treacherous pretended showman a severe wound when he fired, as he had promised to do. It is always darkest before dawn, they say, and in his own limited experience Adrian had found the truth of this more than once. It happened now; and Billie, with his cheek pressing on the butt of his leveled gun, was suddenly electrified to hear his comrade call out: “Wait! it will be all right now, because there comes the chief!”