n arguments,
Professor Featherwit gradually gave way, though still with reluctance.

"I could never find forgiveness should harm come to your mother's son,
boy," he huskily murmured, his arm stealing about Bruno's middle. "I'd
far rather venture myself, and--why not, pray?" as Waldo burst into an
involuntary laugh.

Then he turned upon Ixtli, a hand resting upon each shoulder while he
gazed keenly into those lustrous dark orbs for a full minute in perfect
silence. Then he spoke, slowly, gravely:

"Can we trust you, friend? Would you sell the boy to whose arm you
owe your own life, unto his enemies? Would you lead him blindly to his
death, Ixtli, son of Aztotl?"

A wondering gaze, then the Indian appeared to flush hotly. He shook off
those far from steady hands, drawing his knife and with free fingers
tearing open his dress above the heart. Thrusting the weapon into
Bruno's hand, he spoke in clear, distinct accents:

"Strike hard, white brother! Open heart; see if all black!"

Eye to eye the two youths stood for a brief space in silence, then the
weapon was let fall, and Bruno gripped the Indian's hand and shook it
most cordially.

"Strike you, Ixtli? I'd just as soon smite my brother by birth!"

"And that's mighty right, too!" cried Waldo, impetuously.

"I really begin to believe that you are all in the right, while I alone
am left in the wrong," frankly admitted the professor.

CHAPTER XXII. A DARING UNDERTAKING.

Still, that point was of too vital importance to justify hasty decision,
and the professor did not make his surrender complete until the shades
of another night were beginning to gather over the land.

Meantime, partly for the purpose of keeping the youngsters employed and
thus out of the way of less harmless things, the professor suggested
that the huge grizzly be flayed. If the proposed scheme should really be
undertaken, that mighty pelt, if uncomfortable to convey, would serve as
a fair excuse for the young brave's as yet unexplained absence from the
Lost City.

As a matter of course, Cooper Edgecombe felt intense anxiety through
all, but he contrived to keep fair mastery over his emotions, readily
admitting that he himself could do naught towards visiting the Lost
City.

"I know that my loved ones are yonder. I would joyfully suffer ten
thousand deaths by torture for the chance to speak one word to--to them.
And yet I know any such attempt would prove fatal to us all. The mere
sight