“You’re cleaving close to the line, let me tell you, Chum Adrian; and you’ll find that money talks even among the Zuni and the Hopi Indians, just as it does, they say, over in Switzerland or Italy, where every blessed person, young and old, has the itching palm as they call it, so you can’t ask a civil question without fishing around in your pocket for a tip. But let’s forget all that, now, and mingle with the crowd.”
“First of all,” suggested Adrian, wisely, “don’t you think we’d better be making a camp for ourselves? The ponies will have to have water and grass; and as we’ve got a tent, it ought to be stuck up somewhere to show where the Broncho Rider Boys have their headquarters.”
“Right you are, Ad; and here comes the very party we had ought to speak to, unless I’m mistaken. Now, it happened that Corse Tibbals was able to do these people a mighty good turn, once upon a time; and he told me if I mentioned the fact that I was a friend of his, it might make things pleasant for us; which I expect to spring on this old fellow who’s got our number, and means to find out who we are, and what we want here.”
The man who approached them was evidently one of more or less authority among the Zunis; for his manner, as well as a difference in his style of
dress, told that he must exercise the authority of a chief.
Billie had been wondering what sort of Choctaw or Greek he was about to hear the Zuni use in addressing them, and how Donald could understand him. Billie, having once taken a few lessons in the sign language, had even been trying to brush up his memory, under the faint impression that he might have to join in the conversation, and assist his chums, when he heard the other ask in very good English who they were, and why they had journeyed hither.
Of course it was only a sort of ceremonious way of introducing himself, because all the palefaces who came to the Zuni country had only one object in view, which could be set down as an overwhelming curiosity to see for themselves these wonderful things of which they had heard or read so much.
Donald gave the name of each of his chums, as well as his own. He told how they had been down to the copper mines on business; and finding that they would be in time to witness the famous rattlesnake dance, which once a year the Zunis indulge in, they had crossed the burning desert in a sand storm to visit their brothers.
And when he mentioned that Corse Tibbals was a very good friend of his, and really in the employ of his father, the sober face of the old Zuni actually lighted up with what seemed to be pleasure.
He and Donald chatted for some little time in an animated way, after which the old chief took himself off, and the boy returned to his friends, a satisfied look on his face, that told them things were “panning out” well.