Big John shook his head. It was all too perplexing to him, in his present weakened state.
“Think of it, John!” went on Sid, raptly. “A tribe of Indians that has found peace at last! And now that they think they have nothing that the white man wants, along comes one of my race—and my own best friend at that—and he wants the silver and copper on their place! What’s the answer?—Move on! It’s always that! I told him I’d borrow money from my father for him, work for him all my life, if he’d only let this go and keep silent about Red Mesa forever.”
“An’ what’d Scotty say to that?”
“Oh, you know how ’tis!” said Sid wearily. “His head’s sure stuffed with grandiose dreams! I ought to look at it in a big way, he says. Scotty thinks he’s a millionaire already. He talks about buying the tribe a great reservation somewhere, as if Honanta’d agree even to that. What he wants is just peace—and isolation. Nowhere else would his people be free from corruption by every white rapscallion who roams the state. And what mining company would agree to setting aside any sum to pay them for this place? Isn’t it Scotty’s already, by his mere act of driving in a few pegs?”
“Sho!” sighed Big John, sinking back again with weakness. The problem seemed too tough for him. After a silence his voice came dreamily from the cot. “Gold! Sometimes, Sid, I think—our laws are—all wrong,” gasped Big John. “No other race but ours—permits one man—to own these big—nat’ral products—that ought to belong to the—hull country—while thousands of us—starve. ’Tain’t right—son! ’Tain’t right!”
His voice relapsed in utter weariness. Sid went out of the lodge, regretting that his own impetuosity had brought this miserable problem to Big John at such a time.
Honanta met him at the doorway: “Can your big white friend speak?” he whispered eagerly.
Sid wanted to kick himself for remorse! He had forgotten to ask Big John the most important question of all—what had become of Hano. Now it might be too late. The chief’s eyes told him of the long anxious strain of waiting his Indian friend had been through. Honanta had not slept during the night. A small group of braves, armed for the trail and each carrying a bag of pinole at his hip, told him that the search party was here, ready to go after Hano.
He and Honanta reëntered the medicine lodge and stood for some time silent and watchful. The still form of the patient moved not. Finally he turned over, the lines of irksome pain seaming his hawklike face. Slowly his eyes opened and fixed themselves on Sid. Then they turned on Honanta and studied him awhile.
“Whar’d ye git him, Sid?” asked Big John slowly.