Sam took the two pictures from his pocket and handed them to Cleary, who held them in his hand while Carlos peered over his shoulder.
"You see here," he said, "that we are tied to the stake. You may recognize our features. You see the expression of pain on our faces. These men standing around are our elder brothers who initiated us. It was done by night in a sacred grove where our ancestors have indulged in these rites for many ages. That wall is part of a ruin of a temple to the god of war."
Carlos evidently was impressed. He took the dim print, with its fitful lantern-light effects, and studied it, comparing the faces with those of his prisoners. Then he showed it to his followers, and they all spoke together.
"They say," said their chief at last, "that they believe you speak the truth. But how do we know that the old man was initiated too?"
"He is an old man," said Cleary. "He had a picture like this in his pocket when he was young. We all carry them with us as long as they hold together. But they will wear out. You may see that this one is wearing out already."
"That is true," assented the chief. "But your picture proves against you as well as for you. You have no feathers in your heads there, and you are wearing none now," and he proudly straightened up those on his head.
"In our country we have not many feathers as you have here," answered Cleary. "The birds do not come often to that land, it is so cold. Only our greatest men wear feathers. When we reach home and grow old and wise and valiant, perhaps we shall all have feathers. This old warrior of ours has feathers at home, but he does not carry them on journeys. My young friend and I are yet too young. We have a picture of our old friend here with his feathers."
"Good heavens!" exclaimed Sam. "What are you driving at. We'll be worse off than ever now."
"Just you let me manage this affair," said Cleary. "Give me that photo of the dress-parade at East Point that you showed me last week."
Sam did as he was told. It represented the dress-parade at sunset, the companies drawn up in line at parade-rest and the band in full blast going through its evolutions in the foreground, with a peculiarly magnificent drum-major in bear-skin hat and plumes at the head, swinging a gorgeous baton.