and with a rapid
stride a young Indian gained the center of the lodge and stood up very
straight in his nakedness. He began slowly, with senatorial force made
fierce by resolve.

"The white chief is a liar. He lied to me about the gun; he has come
into the council tepee of the Chis-chis-chash and lied to all the
chiefs. He did not trail the stolen horses to this camp. He will not
find them in our pony-herds."

He stopped awaiting the interpreter. A murmur of grunts went round.

"I--the boy--I stole all the white chief's ponies, in the broad
daylight, with his whole camp looking at me. I did not come in the dark.
He is not worthy of that. He is a liar, and there is a shadow across his
eyes. The ponies are not here. They are far away--where the poor blind
Yellow-Eyes cannot see them even in dreams. There is no man of the
Chis-chis-chash here who knows where the horses are. Before the liar
gets his horses again, he will have his mouth set on straight," and the
Bat turned slowly around, sweeping the circle with his eyes to note the
effect of his first speech, but there was no sound.

Again the trader ventured on his wrongs--charged the responsibility of
the Bat's actions on the Chis-chis-chash, and pleaded for justice.

The aged head chief again arose to reply, saying he was sorry for
what had occurred, but he reminded McIntish that the young warrior
had convicted him of forged words. What would the white chief do to
recompense the wrong if his horses were returned? He also stated that
it was not in his power to find the horses, and that only the young man
could do that.

Springing again to his feet, with all the animation of resolution, the
Bat's voice clicked in savage gutturals. "Yes, it is only with myself
that the white liar can talk. If the chiefs and warriors of my tribe
were to take off my hide with their knives--if they were to give me to
the Yellow-Eyes to be burnt with fire--I could not tell where the ponies
lie hidden. My medicine will blind your eyes as does the north wind when
he comes laden with snow.

"I will tell the white man how he can have his ponies back. He can hand
over to me now the bright new gun which lies by his side. It is a
pretty gun, better than any Indian has. With it, his powder-horn and his
bullet-bag must go.

"If he does this, he can have back all his horses, except those I choose
to keep. Is it good? I will not say it again. I have spoken."

[Illustration: 07 I will tell the