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."

The boy warrior stood with arms dropped at his sides, very straight in
the middle of the tent, the light from the smoke hole illuminating the
top of his body, while his eye searched the traders.

McIntish gazed through his bushy eyebrows at the victor. His burnt skin
turned an ashen-green; his right hand worked nervously along his
gun-barrel. Thus he sat for a long time, the boy standing quietly, and
no one moved in the lodge.

With many arrested motions, McIntish raised the rifle until it rested on
its butt; then he threw it from himself, and it fell with a crash across