"And my son has found one?"
Swift Elk bowed his head in affirmation.
"I await my son's explanation," the chief went on.
"The palefaces are two bowshot lengths from my father's camp," the Indian answered laconically.
"Oh! Oh!" the chief said doubtfully; "That seems to me too much."
"Will my father see?"
"I will see," Stanapat said as he rose.
"If my father will follow me, he will soon see."
"Let us go."
The two Indians started. Swift Elk led the sachem through the wood, and on reaching the river bank, he showed him a short distance off a rock, whose black outline rose silent and gloomy over the Gila.