"You were to get a commission from me."
"I told you I couldn't take one."
"Well, you won't get one," Mr. Braden snapped. "Levels! What do you know about levels? I'll get somebody that does."
But for some reason Mr. Braden did not do so.
It was nearly a week after this interview, that old Paul Sam rode up on his paint pony, leading Chief.
"Me sell um cooley kuitan," he announced.
"Who bought him?" Angus asked. For answer the old Indian drew forth from the recesses of his garment a slip of paper, which he handed to Angus. The latter read:
"Dear Mackay: I want you to let me have the pleasure of presenting a good horse with a good owner. This, not by way of payment for the service you did me, but in token of my appreciation of kindness to a pilgrim and a stranger here. Am leaving for a few weeks, and will look you up on my return. Faithfully,
"E. W. F. Chetwood.
"P. S.—Don't be a bally ass. Keep the horse."
From this surprising letter Angus lifted his eyes to the big chestnut. As he did so he realized that he had wanted him very badly. He took the lead rope from the old Indian.
"All right, Paul Sam," he said. "Thanks for bringing him over. Put your cayuse in the stable and come up to the house and have some muckamuck."