"It is well," interrupted Iron Shirt; "my brother the Yaqui prepares to hurl his brothers on the pickets, whilst I and mine await at the gate. The captain will go with the Mayo, and when the big gun is fired, we all set to our work. It is spoken, the council is broken up."
He rose. The Yaqui bowed, accustomed already to yield immediately to the superior ever-free Indian, and the Mexican concealed his disgust at being overruled.
There was a brief silence, during which Diego quitted the tent, though remaining still in view, just outside, apparently regarding the stronghold and not listening to the chiefs.
The storm was fast approaching, for the lightning was visible, and the thunder was borne on gusts which gave a damp feeling, though no rain had fallen yet.
"Just the night for a surprise," remarked the Yaqui, assuming to the best of his ability the air of one experienced in warfare.
"It is good," added the Apache, examining his weapons, conscientiously.
The Mexican looked from one to the other with diminishing hesitation.
"Good or not," said he, abruptly, "I see no harm in our taking precautions."
The Apache paid no attention; he was fine edging his knife on a small piece of Arkansas whetstone which he carried in a satchel at his side among other little tools and his talismans. The Yaqui, however, looked over at the speaker inquiringly.
"I want a few of my men to come with me. They know my ways—I know theirs."