“I’m getting ready to move if I have to. The river don’t look good to me, that’s sure.” He shot a quick glance of suspicion at the blank-faced Indians, snickering by the door. The bucks had brilliant bandannas wound around their mud-crusted heads. The black stiff hair of the women streamed in the wind which puffed their skirts into balloons.
“It cost me three thousand, the lot, the shop and the stock. I’d take a thousand.”
“I’d give you that,” Rickard began roguishly.
“Done!” cried Fred Eggers.
“But,” objected the newcomer, “it would be taking a mean advantage of you. You’re playing sure to lose.”
Eggers sat on the edge of his crate and looked at the man who had said he would give him a thousand for his goods.
“If you stay and the river ruins your stock you will probably save your store; you’ll surely keep your lot.” Eggers shook his head. “You’ll probably lose nothing, the water is not coming up here. If you sell to me, for a thousand, or to any one else you’re fixed to lose two. Oh, stay and bluff it, Eggers.”
So it was only a joke, then. “You won’t buy it,” the house-whitened face was crestfallen.
“You won’t sell, if you take time to think it over,” called Rickard, moving on.
Eggers felt something moving behind him. A squaw drew back from the crate. One hand was lost under her flowing cloak of gaudy colored handkerchiefs.