The colonel turned to go.
"Ach, himmel!" cried the Jew, throwing up his hands deprecatingly. "How these English Herren are fiery. Colonel, dear Herr Colonel, pe so goot as to listen."
"Well, what is it? I'll give you five minutes in which to make a bid. After that I'm off straight to Williams Creek."
"Pacon is cheap zere, Colonel; almost cheaper zan here. Put I vill puy. Are ve not from of olt be-friended? Vot you zay, twenty-five cents ze pound?"
"Twenty-five fiddlesticks! Do you think I don't know the market prices?"
But it is not worth while to record all the haggling between Hirsch and Cruickshank. It was a match between the Jew, cool, crafty, and cringing, and the Christian (save the mark!), hurried, and full of strange oaths as become a soldier, "sudden and quick in quarrel."
From the very outset the colonel had one eye on Ben and the other on the door, and his ears seemed pricked to catch the tramp of men who might be coming in pursuit. Of course the Jew saw this, and every time the colonel started at some sudden sound, or reddened and swore at his obstinate haggling, Ben's ferret-like eyes gleamed with fresh cunning and increased intelligence.
Like an expert angler he had mastered his fish, and knew it, and meant now to kill him at his leisure, without risking another struggle. And yet (to maintain the metaphor) this fisher of men all at once lowered his point and seemed to let his captive go.
"Vell, colonel, all right. Suppose you give ze ponies in, I give you your price."
"You're a hungry thief, Ben. The ponies are worth the money; but I am not going to do any more packing, so take them and be hanged to you."