d get in my crack first.

It was weary waiting to see what kind of play the bucks was going to
make. They had the immortal on us, and what they said went.

At last the oldest man in the party stepped out. I guess the Yankee
got his love for Fourth of July gas-displays from the Injuns, for
there's nothin' that those simple-hearted children of nature love
better than chawing air.

"Amigos," says the old buck. "Mira. We are not Gilas; we are not
Mescaleros; we are not Copper-miners; neither Jicarillas, Coyoteros,
nor Llaneros." All this very slow and solemn. Very interesting, no
doubt; but a _little_ long to a man waiting to see whether he's about
to jump the game or not. "No," thinks I; "nor you ain't town-pumps nor
snow-ploughs nor real-estate agents--hook yourself up, for Heaven's
sake, and let go on your family history."

"No," says he, shaking his head. "Nada, I am Yuma--they are Yuma."

"I sincerely hope so," thinks I. "And I wish you'd let us in on the
joke. I'm dyin' for lack of a laugh this minute."

"Si, senores," says he. "We are not Apaches; and we are not now for
war. Before, yes. Now we are peaceful. But the white man has put us
on reservation at Camp Grant, and there bad white men bother us. We
are all braves; we do not wish to be bothered. So we shoot those white
men for the sake of peace, and then we come away. We come here last
moon. We see this man," pointing to Colin Hiccup. "At first my young
men wish to shoot at him, to see him hop, but I say 'no'--we are
peaceful; besides, he is a strange white man. I think he is a great
chief and comes here to make medicine. Do you not see how small is the
rebano and how large the man? And how he dresses like a woman? And
there we hear the music he makes. Then I know he is great medicine.
It is beautiful music he makes to the Great Spirit. It makes our
hearts good. We wait; see you come. See two big medicine men fight,
then be friend again. Know, by the hair, both same medicine. To-night
sounds the music more and more. We come and see dance. We have
council. All say, when dance is over, we ask white man to be chief.
Just one chief--two chiefs, like calf with two heads, no good. You
choose. We have no chief since Mangas Colorado. He make fight. Fight
hard but no good. Now we are for peace. I say it."

He threw down his rifle and waited. The other braves dropped their
guns, crash!

"We will talk," says I, drawing myself