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ordinary methods when dealing with the sacred state of puha . Neither the threat nor actuality of castration would make the prisoner talk.
    ‘I see you are a brave man,’ he said. ‘If you tell me why you came and who sent you, I will let you go free.’
    ‘And what will your white friends do?’ asked the Waw’ai .
    ‘This is the one called Magic Hands,’ replied the Kid, indicating Dusty. ‘He who came to the big council when the white men fought among themselves and broke the medicine of the Devil Gun.’
    During the War, a pair of fanatical Union supporters took an Agar Coffee Mill machine gun to a council of Indian tribes in North Texas and hoped to use it as an inducement to send the tribes on the warpath. On learning of the plot, Dusty led a small party of men, including the Kid’s father, to the council and ruined the insane plot.** In doing so, he gained quite a reputation among the Texas Indians and the Kid could see that the Waw’ai was impressed at coming face to face with the fabled Magic Hands; who had such courage that he threw aside his revolvers when stood before the Devil Gun so as to make its owners fight him.
    ‘Magic Hands would keep his word,’ admitted the Waw’ai . ‘But if I speak, the Death Bringer’s puha will kill me.’
    ‘It’s medicine business, Dusty,’ the Kid explained, turning to his waiting friends. ‘Unless we can break it, he’ll not talk?
    ‘Then we’ll have to break it,’ Dusty answered. ‘Those three jaspers came here to kill you, and likely Uncle Devil. I aim to find out why and who sent them.’
    ‘I could work on him,’ the Kid said. ‘But he’ll not talk with a death curse hanging over him.’
    ‘Perhaps I can help,’ Hollenheimer put in, moving forward from his place by the door.
    Hearing the voice, the Waw’ai looked for the first time away from the grim faced trio of Texans. He stared with some interest and surprise at the tall, stately figure of the noted Eastern savant, gazing at Hollenheimer’s head with especial attentiveness.
    During his last lecture tour in England, Hollenheimer mingled with upper-class sportsmen and adopted their style of leisure wear. Even on his visit to the OD Connected, he chose to wear a dark burgundy smoking jacket and a red fez decorated in black silk with various cabalistic signs. Such a style of dress had attracted comment among the ranch crew and certainly the Waw’ai , his knowledge of white men limited to soldiers and native Texans, never saw its like. Studying the crescent moon and five-pointed star motif of the fez’s decoration, the Waw’ai wondered what kind of white man fate threw him into contact with.
    ‘How do you mean, Professor?’ asked Dusty, while the Kid looked from the Waw’ai to Hollenheimer’s fez and back.
    ‘I’ve found that displaying pseudo-magical powers often has a most salutary effect upon the Indian,’ Hollenheimer explained.
    ‘How about making that so a half-smart lil Texas boy like me can follow it?’ requested the Kid.
    ‘I’m somewhat skilled at sleight-of.hand,’ Hollenheinier answered. ‘Learned in college originally, as a means of entertainment during fraternity dinners rather than with any serious intention. However it came in most useful in gaining the confidence of the Indian, when used in conjunction with a demonstration of some easily-transported scientific development which smacked of the supernatural to the uncultured. braves.’
    ‘Which same, we’re a mite short on scientific developments down here on the OD Connected,’ Dusty drawled, guessing what the other had in mind.
    ‘I brought one of the latest model microscopes back from England, it’s in my trunk,’ Hollenheimer told him. ‘Would that work, do you think?’
    ‘It’d do for a start,’ the Kid admitted when Dusty explained the purpose of a microscope.
    ‘Then I could perform some sleight-of-hand.’ Hollenheimer went on, warming to the idea; especially as it might prevent the need for