The Red Wizard waited at the door of the cave in the hope of seeing the pale-face hold communication with the Manitou, but a keen glance from the sharp eyes of the latter scared him, and thinking that the latter might call down the curse of the Manitou upon him, he hurried off.
The Indians had resolved to show the White Wizard a fine sight that morning. This would be the burning of the three prisoners.
Soon after the pale-face had disappeared in the medicine-tent, a loud howling arose in the village.
The French naturalist carried a little case with him, in which to put the rare things that he found.
The Comanches had taken this, and a huge green umbrella made of the strongest silk, from monsieur when he was captured.
After the Wizard had gone, one Indian, more curious than his brethren, opened the case and began tasting what was in the little vials. Soon he began to feel a little sick, and a crowd gathered around. He got worse every ten seconds, and at length, swollen up terribly, he lay upon the ground, dead.
It was then that the howls echoed through the village.
Not one of the Indians would touch either the box or the umbrella after this. Even the magician was afraid of them, for he said that even the touch of a bottle was poison.
Barry came out to see what the noise was, and he increased his popularity with the Indians by tasting a dozen bottles.
He could read the names on them, which the Indians could not.