Sid wanted to have his mind made up before they set out to join Scotty. He watched Niltci as they came opposite the mine fissure. The Navaho boy stopped with another exclamation of pleasure. He was an expert silversmith himself, and he recognized the metal instantly amid the dull copper. But in Niltci’s eyes there showed no hint of possessing it, of taking this whole mine for himself. This metal was for all, the gift of Mother Earth to the whole tribe, according to his training. He would be just as welcome to set up his forge here and smelt all the silver he wanted as the Apaches were to make arrow tips of the copper. He told Sid this artless viewpoint as the latter questioned him, seeking light in his perplexity. Sid shook his head. How different from Scotty’s idea! A claim that gave exclusive ownership; vast engineering works; ships; an organization that would take _all_ this metal for _one_ man’s enrichment--that was the white man’s way! “Come, we must go find Scotty, Niltci,” said Sid despondently, leading him away. Honanta bid them good-by, assuring them that Big John was doing well. Sid went down the cave tunnel feeling like a traitor. His worst problem was still ahead of him, he thought. But the Great Mystery had planned otherwise, in His inscrutable ways. For, when they reached the lair where Big John had fallen, Vasquez was gone! Honanta’s arrow had _not_ killed him; he had been simply feigning death while they were working over Big John! CHAPTER XI GOLD VERSUS NATURE “How goes it, Big John?” asked Sid cheerily, coming into the medicine lodge the morning after the big fight. “Bad breath, worse feet--I’m mostly carrion, I reckon,” smiled Big John weakly from his bandages. “All-same turkey-buzzard.” Sid laughed gayly. There was no quenching the giant Montanian’s humor so long as the breath of life existed in him! “Guess you’re better, all right!” he answered, relieved. “Whar’s my dear friend, Mister Spigotty?” inquired Big John with elaborate sarcasm. “Last I seen of _him_, he was fixin’ to turn loose a machine-gun onto me.” “We’re still worrying about him, John,” replied Sid seriously. “He got away. The chief’s arrow took him just as he was about to pull trigger on you, but I think that loose serapé he wore saved him. An arrow just loses its punch in it. Anyway, he was only playing ’possum while we were fixing you up, thinking he was done for. We haven’t seen the last of him by a long shot. Ever hear the fate of the Enchanted Mesa, John? That’s what’s worrying me now.” “Yaas,” said Big John, slowly. “Earthquake shook down the trail up to her, didn’t it? Then the hull tribe up thar jest nat’rally starved to death.”