almost sharply demand:

"Where did you gain possession of these weapons and garments,
sir? And how,--from whom?"

"I took them from an Indian, nearly two years ago. He caught me
off my guard, and, when I saw that I could neither hide nor flee,
I fought for my life," explained the exile; then giving a short,
bitter laugh, to add: "Strange, is it not? Although I had long
since grown weary of existence such as this, I fought for it; I
turned wild beast, as it were! Then, after all was over, I took
these things, more because I feared his comrades might suspect--"

"His comrades?" echoed the professor. "More than the one, then?
You killed him, but--there were others, still?"

"Many of them; far too many for any one man to withstand,"
earnestly declared the exile. "I made all haste in bearing the
redskin here, obliterating all signs as quickly as possible; yet
for days and nights I cowered here in utter darkness, each minute
expecting an attack from too powerful a force for standing
against."

Uncle Phaeton rubbed his hands briskly, shifting his weight
hurriedly from one foot to its mate, then back again, the very
personification of eager interest and growing conviction.

"More of them? A strong force? Armed,--and garbed as of old?
The clothing, the footwear, and, above all else, the weapons,
purely Aztecan? And here, only two short years ago?"