“Isn’t there anything we can do?” barked Sid rebelliously. “Throw in rocks—dirt—skins—anything to stop it!”
Scotty shook his head mournfully.
“We’d be too late—look at the water now!”
At once the hopelessness of it all overtook even Sid’s buoyant nature. The water was now only two feet deep and a wide area of glistening mud swept down from the brink. The edges of it had already dried in the desert air.
Sid waded out and faced Honanta, shaking his head solemnly.
“My son, why did the white man do this cruel thing?” asked the chief, his deep voice filled with gentle rebuke. “My people must wander forth, now—I know not where.”
“Because he wanted your mine, Honanta!” gritted Sid passionately, over the injustice of it all. “To get it for himself he hoped to lock us all up here, to die of starvation, like the people of the Enchanted Mesa. And now look how it has turned out! I stand here—ashamed, Honanta—ashamed of my race!”
“Take your mine! It is always so when the white man finds gold! All this must die! The red man must go!”
“No!” barked Scotty wildly through his tears. “No, chief! You won’t have to go! Concrete can fix it! As soon as the water is gone we shall get at the crack and seal it. We’ll mend the basin and then leave you in peace forever. I promise it, here and now! Never, never shall any mention of your mine cross my lips!”
“My son, many, many rains it took to fill that tank! My people were careful to use each year no more than the Great Mystery saw fit to send us. We have done no wrong, yet is the face of the Great Mystery hid behind a cloud. We must go forth!” sighed Honanta.