"The arrows," said Middleton.
"Yes, the Comanche arrows," continued the chief. "I thought that the white men would read the signs, and perhaps they did."
"What do you wish of us?" said Middleton. "What is this message which you say you now deliver for the third time?"
The chief drew himself up with a magnificent gesture, and, turning a little, moved his shield arm with a wide sweeping gesture toward the West.
"I say, and I say it in behalf of the great Comanche nation, 'Go back.' The country upon which you come belongs to the Comanches. It is ours, and the buffalo and the deer and the antelope are ours. I say to you turn back with your wagons and your men."
The words were arrogant and menacing to the last degree. A spark leaped up in Middleton's eye, but he restrained himself.
"We are but peaceful traders going to Santa Fé," he said.
"Peaceful traders to-day, seizers of the land to-morrow," said the Comanche chief. "Go back. The way over the Comanche country is closed."
"The plains are vast," said Middleton mildly. "One can ride hundreds of miles, and yet not come to the end. Many parts of them have never felt the hoof of a Comanche pony. The plains do not belong to the Comanches or to anybody else."
"They are ours," repeated the chief. "We tell you to go back. The third warning is the last."