“Under the circumstances, you may be well satisfied with what you did, for you gave him a rifle he coveted and fifty dollars in money in exchange for what he had offered you as a present.”
“Still, he is such a tenderfoot that it almost seems like taking an advantage.”
Frank took a silver half-dollar from his pocket and flung it far into the air; as it turned, glittering in the sunshine, he fired at it, hit it, sent it flying far out into the stream.
“That is quite enough,” he decided. “Now I know this rifle will shoot just as well as the other one. John Caribou will be well pleased with it.”
“It will be a fine present for the Indian.”
“But not more than he deserves.”
“No.”
“I read the fellow’s character aright when I first saw him. I have seen all sorts of Indians, and I will say that, as a rule, a redskin can’t be trusted. The Indians of the West are treacherous, and still, occasionally, one is found who has all the high ideas of honor and justice entertained by the simple aborigines of early days. When such a one is found, you may trust him with your life. I studied Caribou, and I saw he had a good head, a kind face, and eyes that looked squarely and frankly into my own. Then, despite Diamond’s prejudice against the fellow, I trusted him. I do not believe I could send him anything that would be valued more by him than this handsome rifle.”
“You are right in that, Merry. It is because you remember your friends and show them that you appreciate their friendship that you have so many of them all over the country.”
“I have observed,” said Frank, slowly, “that human beings are prone to forget friendly acts of others. They may feel grateful for a short time, but human nature is fickle, and without meaning to be ungrateful, a man often fails, when he has the opportunity, to return good for good, much less good for evil. But come, let’s go back to the hotel. It’s getting late, and I don’t know what time we have supper. I’m rather anxious about Hans, too.”