"I reckon I woke up too soon for him," George answered with a faint smile. "I heard you boys talking, though you seemed a long way off, and at first I thought it was all a dream."
"We got a feed in that dream, anyway!" laughed Sandy.
"I tried to cry out but couldn't," George continued. "My lips seemed frozen into numbness. I couldn't move hand or foot for a time, but finally I managed to clap the palms of my hands together in the Beaver call, and that seemed to set the blood circulating through my veins."
"What do you make of it?" asked Sandy.
"If you leave it to me," whispered George, still faint from loss of blood and the effects of the drug, "I dope it out that this man who calls himself Antoine is in possession of the Little Brass God, and he has in some way discovered that we are here after it."
"That's a fact!" exclaimed Will, "you saw the Little Brass God, too, didn't you?"
"I certainly did!" was the reply.
"Well, was the man who sat before the fire, the same man who gave you the drug?" Will went on. "Did you see him plainly?"
"I've been wondering about that," George replied. "Sometimes I
think Antoine is the man who sat before the fire with the ugly
Little Brass God leering down at him. Sometimes, I think it was
Pierre who sat there. I can't quite make up my mind."
"If it was Pierre," Will said gravely, "the Little Brass God will probably never be found! The man who gave you the drugged drink shot the half-breed to death this morning."