Carlos, unconscious of the honour that was in store for him, was standing a little to one side, observing the movements of his dusky companions with interest. He had not the slightest idea of the question that had been put. Some one near him, however, who spoke Spanish, explained to him the subject of the inquiry, and he was about to make a modest avowal, when one of the braves in the circle exclaimed—
“Why be in doubt longer? If modesty ties the tongue of the warrior, let his weapon speak. Behold! his arrow still pierces the body of our foe. Perhaps it will declare its owner,—it is a marked one!”
“True!” ejaculated the orator. “Let us question the arrow!”
And, stepping forward, he drew the shaft from the body of the Pané, and held it aloft.
The moment the eyes of the warriors fell upon its barbed head, an exclamation of astonishment passed from their lips. The head was of iron! No Waco ever used such a weapon as that!
All eyes were instantly turned on Carlos the cibolero, with looks of inquiry and admiration. All felt that it must be from his bow had sped that deadly shaft; and they were the more convinced of this because some who had noticed the third Pané pierced with a rifle bullet, had just declared the fact to the crowd.
Yes, it must be so. The pale-face was the avenger of their chief!