Pritchen did not expect this, and felt somewhat confused. He fumbled in his pockets for some trinket to appease the suspicious chief. He was about to abandon the search when his hand struck a note book, in a pocket he had overlooked, on the inside of his rough jacket. He quickly drew it forth, and from its pages produced a small photograph. That it was the face of a young man, handsome and fair, did not signify. It would serve his purpose, Pritchen felt sure of that.
"See," he said, holding it in his hand. "The white chief sends his picture to the chief of the Takudhs."
This was enough. All doubt was at once removed, and as the old man stretched out a scrawny hand for the treasure, a smile of triumph passed over Pritchen's hard face.
"I caught the rascal at last," he said to himself as he left the lodge. "It was mighty lucky for me that I had that photo. I had forgotten all about it. But I must get it back some way or else there may be trouble."
At the appointed hour of six the simple-minded Indians emerged from their various lodges and filed silently toward Perdue's store. Here they squatted on the floor, with their backs to the wall, awaiting proceedings.
A number of miners entered and stood or sat chatting with one another, apparently unconscious of the dusky figures in their midst. At length Pritchen arrived, and after conversing for a while in a low tone with Perdue he turned to the Indians. He told them again, through the same interpreter, of the great chief's love for them, and his interest in their welfare. He lengthened his speech as much as possible before distributing the presents. These were cheap articles he had purchased from the store during the day; bright pieces of cloth for the women, pipes, tobacco, and knives for the men, while sugar was doled out to the children. This performance took some time, and a triumphant light gleamed in Pritchen's eye as he glanced at the small clock in the room.
"Now for the stuff," he cried.
At once, cups brimming with vile hootch were placed upon the rough bar. Seizing one in his hand Pritchen held it before the old chief's eyes.
"Drink," he said. "Good."
As the Indian looked in silence at the mixture, without offering to touch it, a stern voice rang out near the door. Some one was speaking in sharp, quick words in the Indian tongue, which produced an immediate effect. In an instant every eye was turned toward the speaker, when they beheld standing there the sturdy form of Amos, the catechist.