“I’ll give you a bat ’long side your old head ef ye ask fur more afore you’ve done the work,” said Joe, angrily. “Come now, speak up. What d’ye want?”
“Want rifle—want blanket—want heap fire-water!” replied Little Fox. “Got heap story to tell.”
“Lies, probably. Come, out with it, and ef it is any use to us, then we’ll pay han’sum. That’s the time of day.”
“Want him now,” replied the Indian, with a surly glance at the speaker. “No tell news widout you put him down here.”
“That won’t do, Injin,” said Joe. “You heard what the fellers done with Black-Hawk, just now. I’ve only got to say the word, and you go away the sorest Injin in the Nor’-west. Tell us any really important news, and we’ll give you a rifle, two blankets and a keg of rum, and you kin drink you’self to death in a week.”
“Much promise—little do. Dat white man’s way,” replied the Indian. “Little Fox no speak.”
“Will you speak if I promise to give you what you ask?” said Captain Melton, advancing.
“Loud Tempest will do what he says,” replied the Indian, with a drunken leer. “Little Fox will believe him.”
“Very well, then; I promise to give you the rifle, blankets and rum, if you tell us all you came to tell.”
“Give Injun stool; sit down like white man. Floor much dizzy; whirl round fast. Ugh!”