control them, and the Indians laughed among themselves at his apprehension, exchanging sardonic gutturals.
"What you want this land?" asked the chief. "This Apache land. No good for white men."
Harvey pointed to the camera, showing no offence at the growing arrogance of the interrogator.
"This man," he pointed to Stone, "make book about cueva (cave), make sun-picture. This man," he pointed to Healy, "help him." The savage looked at Stone and then, contemptuously, at Healy.
"That white man too much afraid," he said. "I think he 'fraid because he on Indian land."
"Tonto Crick don't head on the reservation, 'cordin' to the maps," said Harvey. "Plenty people know this man," he indicated Stone again, "he write this book, make this picture for Gov'mint." The Apache's face became convulsed with sudden rage. Stone fancied that he had been deliberately working himself up to an outburst.
"To hell with the Government!" he said, in remarkedly good English. "To hell with the maps! They lie, same as book this man write lie, same as words he put under picture lie. This Indian land. Now you go!"
All this time the five warriors had been exhibiting a lively but forced curiosity as to the general equipment of the white men. They fingered buttons, buckles, took hold of rifles, and attempted, without force, but with persistence, to take them into their
