The salutation was not returned.
“May I camp for a day or two on your land?”
“No!” And Ojeeg proceeded to light his pipe.
“I am willing to pay for the privilege,” said Marvin, and handed over a five-dollar bill.
The lighted match was still in Ojeeg’s hand, but the pipe was not yet drawing well. So he took the money, ignited it, and used it to spread a broad flame over the tobacco.
But the buyer rose to the occasion. He extended his hand for the blazing paper, and lighted his own pipe.
“Ojeeg, I ran up to see you about Keego. I’ll give you a thousand for that useless chunk of rock, and I have a hundred in my pocketbook to bind the bargain.”
“You take your pocketbook go to hell.”
The savage had learned this trite expression from Christians, for no unconverted Indian swears. But Marvin made no motion as if departing for hell.
He merely sat down on the pier and began to whittle a stick. It was a green sapling with a heavy root uptorn by the flood. He trimmed the root, shaping it to look like a warclub, and felt a strong desire to punch Ojeeg’s head.