"How did you tame him to be so manageable?"
"Caught him a little calf, four years ago; trained him young to mind halter; then ox-work, horse-work. This year ride him. No trouble, you let him enough to eat."
"Where did you catch him?"
"Over the mountain. Live there. My name John Tomah. Been here to hunt some, but not see you before. Another man live in this house last spring."
"Yes, I am a new-comer. But I have heard some of the settlers speak of you,
I think. You are the Indian that has been to college?"
"Yes, been there some, but in the woods more. Love to hunt, catch beaver, sable, and such things. Come here to hunt now, soon as time. But must have moose kept when off hunting: thought the man lived here do that. May be you keep him, while I come back. Pay you, all right."
"Yes, if I could; but where could I keep him? He would jump any pasture or yard fence there is here, and then run away, would he not?"
"No. Stay, after week or two, and get wonted, same as horse or cow. I go to work, make yard, keep him in a while, and feed him with grass or browse. I tend him first. You keep him,—you keep me, till go hunting; then get boy. Pay well, much as you suit."
Gaut Gurley never acted without a strong secret motive. He had been intently studying the young Indian during the conversation just detailed, with a view of forming an opinion how far his subservience could be secured; and, appearing to become satisfied on this point, and believing the first great step for making him what was desired would be accomplished by yielding to his request gracefully, however much family inconvenience it might occasion, Gaut now turned cordially to him, and said:
"Yes, Tomah, I will do it. I like your looks, and I will do it for you, but wouldn't for anybody else. We can get along with your animal, somehow; and you shall stay, too, till our company start on our hunt, and then you shall go with us. I will see that you have fair play. I will be your friend; and perhaps I may want a good turn of you some time."