"Stand up there you, Mahletonkwa, like me." He spoke proudly. "Be a man; stand up."
Very watchfully, both hands grasping his gun at the ready, the Indian rose to his feet. He looked like a fierce, cunning wolf hesitating whether to snap or to turn tail.
With right hand still extended, Stephens moved step by step towards his enemy, Faro keeping close to his heels. Not for a moment did the white man remove his eye from the Indian, alert to detect the first motion towards raising the gun, as he felt for his footing on the rough lava blocks, careful not to look down lest an unfair advantage should be taken of him. At five yards off he halted. The fissured rock behind which Mahletonkwa had been crouching was now all that separated them.
"Is there not peace between us?" exclaimed Stephens. "What do you fear? Why does your gun point my way?"
"Is not your gun in your hand, too?" returned the Indian. "Put it down and I will put mine down."
Stephens lowered his right hand, and bending his knees slowly he sank his body near enough to the ground to lay his Winchester at his feet, but he never took his eyes off the Indian, and his fingers still encircled the barrel and the small part of the stock.
"Down with yours too, Mahletonkwa," he said quietly.
The Indian placed his piece at his feet, hesitated a moment, and then removed his hands from it and sat up, resting himself on his heels. Stephens likewise took his hands from his weapon and sat on a rock. Mutual confidence had advanced so far, although each was still intensely suspicious of the other.
"Now, tell me," said Stephens, "what did you carry off the girl for?"