“Ixtli ready; heart-brother say where go, now.”
Again the brothers felt startled by that quaintly correct accent, and almost involuntarily Bruno spoke in turn:
“You can talk English? When did you learn? And from whom?”
A still brighter smile irradiated the Aztec's face, and turning his eyes towards the secluded valley, he bowed his head as though in deep reverence, then softly, lovingly, almost adoringly, responded:
“SHE tell me how. Victo,—Glady, too. Ixtli know little, not much; his heart feel big for Sun Children, all time. So YOU, too, for kill bear,—like dat!”
Bruno turned a bit paler than usual, catching his breath sharply, as he repeated those names:
“Victo,—Glady,—Wasn't it by those names, Victoria, Gladys, that Mr. Edgecombe called his lost ones, Waldo?”
“I can't remember; but get a move on, old man. The sooner we're back where uncle Phaeton left us, where we can see a bit more of what may be coming, the safer my precious scalp will feel. This Injun—”
“No scalp,” quickly interposed the Aztec, with a deprecatory gesture to match his words. “You save Ixtli. Ixtli say no hurt white brothers. Dat so,—dat sure for truth!”
Only partially satisfied by this earnest disclaimer of evil intentions, Waldo gripped an arm and hurried the Aztec along, leaving the bear where it had fallen, intent solely upon reaching a comparatively safe outlook ere worse could follow upon the heels of their latest adventure.