'Thanks, Colonel. Am I all through here?'
'You're free to go. Anything you need, just let us know.'
'Well, yeah. Why don't your people take me up to Lawton in Oklahoma?
Ain't much out of the way, and I got folks up there, so I'm covered by seeing family.
Never came here.' He grinned.
'Have a good trip, Mr. Hightower.' Henshaw looked at two other drivers.
'You people have anything to add?'
Both men shook their heads. 'Nope. It's all just like Mike said.'
'Great. Thank you.'
A captain led the three men from the room.
Henshaw turned to Indy. 'There's a lot more detail, but I think the picture's pretty clear. Heavy shipments of helium directly to Acoma.'
'They must have a piping system for the airship,' Indy said.
'Yes.'
They both turned to the Indian. He had remained stoic and silent through the exchanges. Indy paid special attention to him now. Big man for an Indian; at least six feet two inches and with immense shoulders. He wore a stovepipe western hat that on most men would have been ludicrous, especially with the three golden feathers along the left side of the crown. Indy saw that the buckskin trousers and vest were handsewn, as were his belt and hammered silver ornaments. Indy couldn't see his feet through the table, but somehow he knew that for footwear the Indian had yielded to the white man's working field boots. That made sense in the rocky desert country.
Both men held the eyes of the other, both men looked down from faces to the weapon each man carried. Indy had his Webley slung across hip and thigh in its covered holster. The Indian carried his Western style, slung low and thightied for security for riding and a fast draw.
Indy nodded to the man. Ceremony was important here. All he knew of this fellow was what Henshaw had told him; that he was a member of the High Council of the Acoma. Indy swiftly learned the rest by his study of the man, his mannerisms that bespoke a long and royal line. It also said something that he was allowed to wear an open sidearm on a military base.
'Jones,' Indy said. 'Henry Jones. I prefer Indy.'
'Good name. I am Jose Syme Chino.' Chino's voice came from deep within his barrel chest. Indy saw warmth in the eyes of the man who, Indy knew, could be a fearsome opponent when the moment demanded. There was still some small talk, a feelingout. If it went well, Indy would have the final cooperation he sought. And by the way Henshaw had taken a step backwards, Indy knew that the colonel recognized the need for these two to palaver on equal terms. The Indians had been treated anything but fairly by the white man's government.
Indy motioned to Chino's holstered weapon. 'May I?' Indy asked.
In a lightning move, the heavy revolver—a longbar i reled .44 sixgun—was out of its holster and offered butt first to Indy. Indy hefted the weapon, sighted down the long barrel. 'Good range?'
Chino barely nodded. 'Heavy load, high velocity. Yes. Good range.'
Indy returned the .44 to Chino, unholstered his own weapon and, gripping the Webley by the barrel, offered it across the table to Chino. The same examination took place. Chino smiled. 'Much use,' he said.
'Yes,' Indy replied. Chino had learned all that from the weathered feel of the Webley. Now Chino pointed to the curled whip hanging from Indy's left waist.
'That also has much use,' he said.
'Yes.'
'I am master with whip. We must test one another,' Chino offered.
Indy smiled. 'That will be . . . interesting.'
A deep laugh boomed from Chino, and in that moment the shortclipped speech of the 'backward Indian' was gone. 'I imagine that in certain circumstances, Professor Jones, your camera is even more effective than the whip and the gun.'
I was right! This guy probably has more degrees than I've got under my belt!
But Indy made certain not to show surprise or even to hesitate in response.
'You are very perceptive,' he told Chino. 'It is more frightening to many people to have their spirit captured with this,' he tapped the Leica, 'than to kill a man who then travels to the gods in spirit form.'
'Careful, Professor.' Chino laughed. 'You sound like a medicine man.'
'And you no longer sound as if you're out in the hills hunting moose with a bowie blade.'
A knowing smile this time, but Chino chose to wait for Indy to continue. 'Just for the record, Jose Syme Ch —'
'Indy for me, Joe for you.'
'Great. But like I was saying, just for the record before we get back to the matter at hand, where did you do your studies?'
'You are good. Montana for geology, UCLA for meteorology and atmospherics, Texas A and M for agriculture
. . . ' Chino shrugged. 'Whatever I needed to serve the interests of my people in the best way.'
'It had to be a tough go at A and M.'
'Why do you say that, Indy?'
