"This belong to you, Havasupai?" he demanded, trying to assume a stern manner, such as he believed would affect the other more or less, and be apt to bring out straight answers to his leading questions.
"The white boy has said," answered the other, for an Indian seldom answers in a direct way.
"Where did you get it?" Frank continued, slowly, as if feeling his way; for he did not wish to alarm the Indian, knowing how obstinate a Moqui may prove if he once suspects that he is being coaxed into betraying some secret or a friend.
The black, bead-like eyes were on the face of Frank as he put these questions. Doubtless the old Moqui balanced every one well before venturing a reply.
"He gave it," nodding in the direction of the paper Frank held.
"Do you mean the man who signed his name here, Professor Oswald?"
A nod of the head in the affirmative settled that question.
"Was he a small man with a bald head, no hair on top, and wearing glasses over his eyes, big, staring glasses?"
Frank aided comprehension by touching the top of his own head when speaking about the loss of hair on the part of the noted scientist; and then made rings with his fingers and thumbs which he clapped to his eyes as though looking through a pair of spectacles.
Evidently the Moqui understood. Reading signs was a part of his early education. In fact it comprised nearly four-fifths of all the Indian knew.