At her side stood a tall young Indian with a handsome face set with great pride. On her other side was a wizened little old fellow with a wrinkled face and ribs corrugated like a saguaro.
Sidney turned back and demanded, "What do you make of this? Are we seeing things?" Hopefully, he suggested, "A mirage or sort of a mutual hallucination?"
In a considered, gauging tone George replied, "They're real."
"Real?" cried Sidney. "What do you mean, real?"
"Real in a way. I mean, Sidney, these—I sound crazy to myself saying it—but I think these are—well, Sid, maybe they're actual prehistoric Indians."
"Huh?"
"Well, let's put it this way: We asked for them and we got them."
Sidney stared, shocked at George's statement. "You're crazy, all right," he said. "Hohokams in the middle of the Twentieth Century?"
"I didn't say they're Hohokams, though they probably are, of the village here."
"You said they're prehistoric," Sidney accused. He quavered, "Just how could they be?"