Phil begged to be allowed to go, too, and they consented. Woodfall hoisted a piece of white cloth on the end of his rifle, and the Indian raised his shield in a gesture of understanding. Then the three rode forward. The whole of the wagon train was massed on the swell behind them, and scores of eyes were watching intently for every detail that might happen. The Indian, after the affirmative gesture with the shield, did not move, but he sat erect and motionless like a great bronze equestrian statue. The blazing sunlight beat down upon horse and man. Every line of the warrior’s face was revealed--the high cheek-bone, the massive jaw, the pointed chin, and, as Phil drew nearer, the expression of hate and defiance that was the dominant note of his countenance. Truly, this Black Panther of the slums had undergone a prairie change, a wonderful change that was complete. Woodfall, Middleton, and Phil rode slowly up the second swell, and approached the chief, for such they could not doubt now that he was. Still he did not move, but sat upon his horse, gravely regarding them. Phil was quite sure that Black Panther remembered him, but he was not sure that he would admit it. "You wish to speak with us," said Middleton, who in such a moment naturally assumed the position of leader. "To give you a message," replied Black Panther in good English. "I have given you two messages already, and this is the third." "The arrows," said Middleton. "Yes, the Comanche arrows," continued the chief. "I thought that the white men would read the signs, and perhaps they did." "What do you wish of us?" said Middleton. "What is this message which you say you now deliver for the third time?" The chief drew himself up with a magnificent gesture, and, turning a little, moved his shield arm with a wide sweeping gesture toward the West. "I say, and I say it in behalf of the great Comanche nation, ’Go back.’ The country upon which you come belongs to the Comanches. It is ours, and the buffalo and the deer and the antelope are ours. I say to you turn back with your wagons and your men." The words were arrogant and menacing to the last degree. A spark leaped up in Middleton’s eye, but he restrained himself. "We are but peaceful traders going to Santa Fé," he said. "Peaceful traders to-day, seizers of the land to-morrow," said the Comanche chief. "Go back. The way over the Comanche country is closed." "The plains are vast," said Middleton mildly. "One can ride hundreds of miles, and yet not come to the end. Many parts of them have never felt the hoof of a Comanche pony. The plains do not belong to the Comanches or to anybody else." "They are ours," repeated the chief. "We tell you to go back. The third warning is the last." "If we still come on, what would you do?" said Middleton.