“Sounds like a lot of stewed tripe to me,” declared the chap who was determined to possess himself of the jewels.
“Maybe it does,” retorted Mills, “But I’m tellin’ you to leave ’em be. I asked one of the lieuts en’ he told me that a long time ago, when there wasn’t no white folks in the U. S. er down in these parts either, there were rich Indians.”
“Go on, Indians aint rich.”
“Shut up, some of ’em were and are. Well, the whites came along, and saw them all dressed up in gold feathers, the women wearing ropes of diamonds and pearls big as eggs. It made ’em sore so much wealth goin’ ter waste, so they shot a mess of ’em and took the stuff. Only a few was left and they were good and sore, so they dug hiding places, deep ones in these here mountains, and they took a lot of the best green stones they could find and made ’em into rings—nice ones that a fella would like to want fer himself en maybe fer his girl. Then, when the rings was all ready they took them to their temple on top of one of the peaks, and they prayed fer weeks and weeks, then they cussed them rings up one side and down the other. Cussed everybody who got a look at one, cussed all his family, and put some extra cussin’ on the white guy who carried one, even fer a minute. Then they prayed some more to make it stronger, and they cooked up a lot of meat on the temple and the smoke all went straight into the sky, meanin’ that the cussin’ had took, see! Then they passed them rings around here and there so they’d bob up fer a long time and raise Sam Hill with any white man that got hold of one,” he said impressively.
“Cussed ’em, eh.” The chap straightened, and despite their predicament, the Flying Buddies had difficulty to keep from roaring with laughter at the strange recital. “Aw, I say, these fellows has been wearin’ ’em!”
“Sure, en aint they outta luck?” That was evident to the gangster, who resolutely turned his face from temptation and such glaring misfortune.
“Say, you guys know the way outta here ’cept by plane?” Mills demanded suddenly.
“No we do not,” Jim replied emphatically. He recognized the questioner as one of the men who had been on the ledge the night they were captured with the De Castros.
“Quit wastin’ time on them. Come on in this place en we’ll see where it’s leading,” proposed the pilot. “We aint none of us hankerin’ to hang around here.”
“No we aint,” responded Lang. “You take that whirlgig plane en fly her where she won’t be spotted—”