Stephens took another look at the Indians around. Some were still watching the mesas; others were going about their daily business. It seemed as if those who knew him best kept aloof, feeling ashamed to come up and speak to him. However, an old man whom he hardly knew, and who spoke Spanish badly, approached him in an apologetic sort of way, and said, "Salvador very angry!"
"Well," answered Stephens, with a grim laugh, "I should think he's gone mad."
"Yes, mad, silly," assented the old man; "for why get angry? No good, no good,"—and he stood there wagging his old head and saying "no good" in a way that the prospector quite understood to be intended for an amende honorable on the part of his fellows.
Nor was he the only one. "Señor Americano," said a cracked voice close beside him, and Stephens felt a light touch on his elbow. He turned and found himself face to face with Reyna, the Turquoise squaw from whom he rented his rooms. She and her husband lived next door to him, and from her he often bought eggs and meal. She of course had been a witness of the whole affair. She now produced two eggs, and holding them out to him said, "See, two."
"Yes, I see," said Stephens, "but I don't want 'em to-day. Haven't got the five cents."
"No, no!" she cried. "No money—two."
Her Spanish was weaker even than the old man's. Stephens turned to him. "What does she mean?" he asked. "I can't make out what she's up to."
The two Indians exchanged some words in their own language.
"She means, your honour," said the old Indian man, speaking with painful elaboration, "that this is for the gratitude of the Indians. Excuse her, your honour, she does not speak much in Spanish—that is, not like us, the men"—he added explanatorily, "but she can understand, and she heard you say the Indians got no gratitude, and this is for her."