his best to arouse some spirit in the men. Just then three Indian warriors appeared silently on the other side of the river. They began yesterday’s pantomime, beckoning them over, waving their arms, and holding up arrows and other objects to trade. “Let’s keep this rapid between us, whatever we do, boys. Another repetition of yesterday will be tragic. The men are all on edge.” “If only we could explain ourselves! If only we could tell them why we’ve come! We have no words to protect ourselves with, and the men are in bad shape. Let’s just post watches and try to go on.” Some men assumed vantage points to watch; others doggedly continued the laborious job. After an hour of shouting, the three Indians disappeared, and the men sat on the beach a moment to gain new strength. It was then that one of the lookouts gave the warning. “The Indians are coming through the forest. They’re on our side of the river. Get ready.” The men seized their rifles and ammunition. “Don’t shoot, men. Wait, don’t shoot,” the missionaries ordered. The men were under Rodriguez’s command, and he tried to handle the situation wisely. Reinforcing the missionaries’ order, he went to encounter the Indians, revolver in hand. He told them to come no further. They wanted no trouble. He
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