"Tell them I know Selby," he continued, while he watched Pahrunta. At the sound of the name she looked toward him with blank directness and Burton rejoiced. He had established communication! But when Welch repeated the question in Indian, it brought no response from any one. Washitonka merely grunted. Pahrunta turned away and spat upon the ground, but that might have had no significance.
"They don't seem to know him, either," said Welch.
"Ask the woman what she calls the man who struck her arm in the station when she spoke to him, and spilled her baskets."
But Pahrunta would not answer. She listened as though she heard nothing and turned away as though they had not spoken.
"Is it possible that she is still friendly to Selby?" he wondered. "Is she so much the savage that she admires him the more for striking her?"
Welch yawned, as though the game were losing its interest. "The train is about due," he said, rising. "I guess I'd better go and meet it, in case there is any mail."
He wandered off, leaving Burton to his own resources. Washitonka, apparently satisfied that he was not dangerous without an interpreter, lapsed back into dignified unconcern and tobacco smoke. He looked the Sphinx more than ever.
Burton was, indeed, helpless. Should he confess himself beaten and take the afternoon train back to High Ridge? He was still debating the question when Welch returned,--the train from the south having come in while he was tossing his mental penny.
"A letter for you!" Welch called, while still at a distance, as though the arrival of a letter were a great event.
It was from Ralston, and Burton read it with interest.