“That Beaver call sounded good to us, too!” Will observed.

“What about the tea being drugged?” asked Sandy.

“It put me to sleep in a minute!” declared George.  “My head whirled for a second, and then I was out for the count.”

“I guess he thought he had you laid away for a good long time,” suggested Sandy.

“I reckon I woke up too soon for him,” George answered with a faint smile.  “I heard you boys talking, though you seemed a long way off, and at first I thought it was all a dream.”

“We got a feed in that dream, anyway!” laughed Sandy.

“I tried to cry out but couldn’t,” George continued.  “My lips seemed frozen into numbness.  I couldn’t move hand or foot for a time, but finally I managed to clap the palms of my hands together in the Beaver call, and that seemed to set the blood circulating through my veins.”

“What do you make of it?” asked Sandy.

“If you leave it to me,” whispered George, still faint from loss of blood and the effects of the drug, “I dope it out that this man who calls himself Antoine is in possession of the Little Brass God, and he has in some way discovered that we are here after it.”

“That’s a fact!” exclaimed Will, “you saw the Little Brass God, too, didn’t you?”

“I certainly did!” was the reply.

“Well, was the man who sat before the fire, the same man who gave you the drug?” Will went on.  “Did you see him plainly?”

“I’ve been wondering about that,” George replied.  “Sometimes I think Antoine is the man who sat before the fire with the ugly Little Brass God leering down at him.  Sometimes, I think it was Pierre who sat there.  I can’t quite make up my mind.”

“If it was Pierre,” Will said gravely, “the Little Brass God will probably never be found!  The man who gave you the drugged drink shot the half-breed to death this morning.”

“Then I hope it wasn’t Pierre who sat by the fire,” Sandy declared.  “We’ve come a long way after that Little Brass God, and got into many a mix-up over it, so we’ve just got to take it back to Chicago with us!”

“Now look here,” Will reasoned, “this Antoine had some motive in putting us boys to sleep!  We don’t know what that motive was, but I think I’m giving a pretty good guess when I say that he wanted to prevent our interfering with the Little Brass God until he had arranged to make anything we might do in that line absolutely worthless.”

“That listens good to me, too,” declared Sandy.  “The man wouldn’t try to drug us unless he had some strong motive for doing so!”

“We’re all together once more, anyhow!” Will observed, “and I think we’d better stay together.  I never did like this idea of one boy sneaking away in the night and leaving the others to guess where he went to.  It isn’t safe to go wandering off alone in that way!”

“Yes, I’d talk about that if I were you!” laughed Sandy.  “You go wandering off by yourself more than any of the bunch!”