Braddon seemed to be furious at sight of the two who were advancing so hurriedly. It may be that he feared the worst—something in the situation
began to warn him that his missile had recoiled on his own head, and that the signs were not altogether so promising as they may have seemed a short time before.
He could be seen arguing with the medicine man, and the boys felt sure he must be trying to induce him to make prisoners of the young palefaces before the chief arrived, and took the power out of his hands.
But Pick-ne-quan-to was shrewd enough to see that Braddon was unduly excited over a matter that should not have concerned him to any great extent at all. He may have begun to entertain a dim suspicion of the truth about that time, and wondered just how it was one of the white men could be more successful than himself with regard to finding the lost emblem, unless they knew just where it had been placed!
At any rate he persistently shook his head in the negative, nor could any of the other’s arguments convince him that he should proceed to act before the arrival of the head man of the Zuni tribe, who was coming at a faster gait than he had been known to undertake for many moons, he being an old man.
“Is it all right, Adrian?” asked Billie, his voice trembling with excitement.
“Looks that way,” replied the other, scarcely
able himself to restrain his feelings, so as to appear reasonable and calm.
“Then I don’t get my chance to peg that Braddon, do I?” continued the fat chum, with a vein of dejection in his voice.
“Well, just keep an eye on him, Billie; and if either of them tries to rush the tent, let him have it; because they might mean to drop some other article they’ve gone and stolen, so as to put it on us,” was what Adrian advised.