“Bes’, I t’ink, to stay right here,” Tony stated firmly.
“And fail—after all my talkin’? Not on your life. I’m goin’ to git Gallup, as I said I would. My luck ain’t so bad. Say, where’d you get that trinket on the hat? That’s Traynor’s, ain’t it?”
“Sí. I get heem out of Gallup’s purse when he geeve eet to me for keel you. That’s why I mak’ so much excitement. Maybe you tak’ eet.”
Tony offered the gold snake to Johnny, but the boy waved it back.
“No—I’ll play my own stuff. You watch me when I git down there. If I hold up my hand, you shoot—fire two or three times. I’ll be tellin’ ’em how many men I got around the rim. If the others arrive in time, maybe they’ll understand, too.”
They shook hands, and Johnny moved away, Madeiras’s eyes following him. When the boy was within two hundred yards of the camp the Basque saw him raise his right hand, palm flat, above his head, his left hand, palm pointing downward, dropping until it hung below his waist. It was the Piute sign for a parley.
Johnny avoided any cover, lest it be thought that he stole up on them. A few seconds later he was seen.
Contrary to the white man’s nice little laws, these Indians were armed. Johnny caught the flash of the sun’s rays on the polished barrels, but he continued to walk toward them. Thunder Bird turned his head in the boy’s direction as he advanced.
Gallup had recognized Johnny, and he cursed him. Johnny ignored Aaron. When he reached the chief’s side, the boy’s hands moved until the tips of his fingers rested against his forehead. It was the sign of friendship. The chief answered and motioned to Johnny to sit down.
Instead of complying, Johnny took the drum from the player’s hands, and, holding it before Thunder Bird, dropped a handful of dust upon it. It was symbolic—the omen of disaster. A murmur passed around the circle of squatting Indians.