OH, SHOOT! 



or cocobolo log, came whispers, a smothered 

 agitation, the occasional wail of a frightened 

 baby. Hyatt cautioned us : 



"Mind, now don't laugh at the chief. 

 He's very dignified, and you mustn't josh 

 him." 



For my part, I had no desire to laugh. I 

 was too intensely interested, nor was the chief 

 the sort of man I would select to banter. He 

 was a rugged, strong-faced man, with a brown 

 derby hat which he wore like a crown. He 

 was seated on a long bench in the center of his 

 great house. On his left was a straw-haired, 

 pink-eyed, blue-gummed albino; on his right, 

 a villainous individual with a muzzle-loading 

 shotgun. He shook hands without rising, and 

 by the time Victor had made the introduc- 

 tions the big room was jammed with Indians. 



The chief listened politely enough to Vic- 

 tor's translations of our greetings, but he 

 maintained a strict neutrality. He neither 

 frowned nor smiled; he refused to commit 

 himself. The court chamberlain thoughtfully 

 caressed his antiquated firearm. I squeezed 

 myself into a seat beside the albino and studied 

 him with fascination while he stared fixedly 

 down his nose. 



116 



