But Adrian, I don’t glimpse even a cloud of dust. Donald sure is aholding back the worst ever; looks like he might get here too late, after all.”
Once Billie got started talking it was difficult to stop him. Besides, Adrian did not make any attempt to do so, because every second they could delay matters counted for just so much in their favor.
Of course the medicine man was waiting impatiently to hear what the result of his last demand would be. When he saw the two lads talking he supposed they must be conferring, in order to reach a definite conclusion. And after all, what did a minute, or several of them for that matter, count; there was plenty of time still, before the exercises of the afternoon would be starting.
So he waited, calm and reserved, yet undoubtedly anxious; for the recovery of the precious belt meant much to him; even some shreds of his sacred office might be associated with the return of the belt, for unless this were done how could he convince his people that nothing was impossible with him?
No matter what happened, Adrian was grimly determined that neither of the white men must be allowed to enter that tent. He would, if pushed to the wall, advise that it be taken down, and everything connected with it appropriated by the Indians. Surely that ought to assure the medicine man that they had nothing concealed under the old canvas
that had been donated to the trip by their friend at the mine.
The question was, how could he continue the delay any longer? Already he believed that Braddon was beginning to grow suspicious, for several times the showman cast quick glances toward the village beyond the rocks, as though half anticipating seeing some one coming on the run, perhaps the third paleface boy.
So Adrian once more started to speak, being as slow and deliberate as possible.
“Pick-ne-quan-to would be fair with his white brothers,” he said. “He has looked in their tent, and did not find the Sacred Belt. If it were there it could not escape the eye of Manitou’s messenger. Then why should a white man be able to find it? These white men do not like us. They have tried to drive us away from the village of our friends, the Zunis. The chief knows why this should be so. Send then a warrior to the village to fetch your chief here, Pick-ne-quan-to, that he may be the one to judge what shall be done. If he says that a paleface can do what a Zuni medicine man is unable to accomplish, then we will agree to letting that man enter our tent. But not unless the chief says it. I have spoken.”
Apparently the medicine man hardly knew what to say to this. Adrian had managed to get several clever little hints in his speech that appeared to