And Henry literally went up in the air. "You can't step on my ear, Torres!" he shouted, at the same time dropping him, as he had dropped the priest with his right hook.
"And now the beans are spilled," Francis commented in dry and spiritless disgust. "The Sun God stuff is finished right here and now."
The Sun Priest, exultantly signaling his spearmen, grasped the situation. But Henry dropped the muzzle of his automatic pistol to the old priest's midrif; and the priest, remembering the legends of deadly missiles propelled by the mysterious substance called "gunpowder," smiled appeasingly and waved back his spearmen. "This is beyond my powers of wisdom and judgment," he addressed his tribespeople, while ever his wavering glance returned to the muzzle of Henry's pistol. "I shall appeal to the last resort. Let the messenger be sent to wake the Lady Who Dreams. Tell her that strangers from the sky, and, mayhap, the sun, are here in our valley. And that only the wisdom of her far dreams will make clear to us what we do not understand, and what even I do not understand."
CHAPTER XVIII
CONVOYED by the spearmen, the party of Leoncia, the two Morgans, and Torres, was led through the pleasant fields, all under a high state of primitive cultivation, and on across running streams and through woodland stretches and knee deep pastures where grazed cows of so miniature a breed that, full-grown, they were no larger than young calves.
"They're milch cows without mistake," Henry commented. "And they're perfect beauties. But did you ever see such dwarfs! A strong man could lift up the biggest specimen and walk off with it."
"Don't fool yourself," Francis spoke up. "Take that one over there, the black one. I'll wager it's not an ounce under three hundredweight."
"How much will you wager?" Henry challenged.
"Name the bet," was the reply.
"Then a hundred even," Henry stated, "that I can lift it up and walk away with it."