"Are ye a-skeered?"
"I told ye not."
"Chardon!" roared Bridger to his clerk. "You, Chardon, come here!"
The clerk obeyed, though he and others had been discreet about remaining visible as this bout of old-timers at their cups went on. Liquor and gunpowder usually went together.
"Chardon, git ye two fresh tin cups an' bring 'em here. Bring a piece o' charcoal to spot the cups. We're goin' to shoot 'em off each other's heads in the old way. You know what I mean"
Chardon, trembling, brought the two tin cups, and Bridger with a burnt ember sought to mark plainly on each a black bull's-eye. Silence fell on the few observers, for all the emigrants had now gone and the open space before the rude trading building was vacant, although a few faces peered around corners. At the door of the tallest tepee two native women sat, a young and an old, their blankets drawn across their eyes, accepting fate, and not daring to make a protest.
[pg 283]
"How!" exclaimed Bridger as he filled both cups and put them on the ground. "Have ye wiped yer bar'l?"
"Shore I have. Let's wipe agin."