articles depending from the side
wall, and as the professor drew closer, he, too, displayed a degree of
interest which was really remarkable.

A gaily colored tunic of thickly quilted cotton was hanging beside an
oddly shaped war club, the heavier end of which was armed with blades of
stone which gleamed and sparkled even in that dim light. And attached to
this weapon was another, hardly less curious: a knife formed of copper,
with heft and blade all from one piece of metal.

"Here is the rest of the outfit," said Edgecombe, holding forth a bow
and several feathered arrows with obsidian heads.

Professor Featherwit gave a low, eager cry as he handled the various
articles, both face and manner betraying intense delight, which found
partial vent in words a little later.

"Wonderful! Marvellous! Superb! I envy you, sir; I can't help but envy
your possession of so magnificent--and so well-preserved, too! That is
the marvel of marvels!"

"Well, to be sure, I haven't used them very much. The bow and arrows I
could manage fairly well, after busy practice. They have saved me from
more than one hungry night. But as for the rest--"

"You might have worn the--Is it a ghost-dance shirt, though?"
hesitatingly asked Waldo, gingerly fingering the wadded tunic.

"Waldo, I'm ashamed of you, boy!" almost harshly reproved the professor.
"Ghost-dance shirt, indeed! And this one of the most complete--the only
perfectly preserved specimen of the ancient Aztec--pray, my good friend,
where did you discover them? Surely there can be no burial mounds so far
above the latitude where that unfortunate race lived and died?"

Mr. Edgecombe shook his head, with a puzzled look, then made reply:

"No, sir. I took these all from an Indian I was forced to kill in order
to save my own life. I never thought--You are ill, sir?"

"Bless my soul!" ejaculated the professor, falling back a pace or two,
then sitting down with greater force than grace, all the while gazing
upon those weapons like one in a daze. "Found them--Indian--killed him
in order to--bless my soul!"

Then, with marvellous activity for one of his age, the professor
recovered his footing, mumbling something about tripping a heel, then
resumed his examination of the curiosities as though he had care for
naught beside.

Cooper Edgecombe turned away, and the professor improved the opportunity
by muttering to the brothers:

"Careful, lads. Give the poor fellow his own way in all thi