“S’pose you go Kadiak,” he said. “You come back with schooner, maybe so we give one rifle, two rifle.”
This had precisely the opposite effect from that intended. The chief guessed that, after all, the boys did not know when any boat would come for them. The cunning eyes of the native grew ugly now.
“My barabbara!” he said. “You go. S’pose you no give lifle! Me take-um all light, all light, all light!”
“Hold on to your guns, boys!” called Rob, quickly. “Don’t let them get hold of one of them.”
Then he resumed with the chief. “Heap shoot!” said he, patting his rifle. “You no take-um. S’pose you get-um schooner, maybe so we give one rifle, two rifle; maybe so flour—sugar; maybe so hundred dollar. Our peoples plenty rich.”
The chief seemed sulky and not disposed to argue, but the young boy at his side spoke to him rapidly for a time, and for some reason he seemed mollified. Rob pressed the advantage. Drawing a piece of worn paper from his inner coat-pocket, he made signs of writing with a stub of pencil which he found in another pocket.
“You see talk-talk paper?” he went on. “S’pose you take talk-talk paper by Kadiak, we give-um one rifle.”
The chief grinned broadly and reached out his hand to take Rob’s rifle from him, but the latter drew it back.
“No give-um rifle now,” he insisted. “When bidarka go, you take-um talk-talk paper, we give-um rifle. No! No give-um rifle now. We keep-um boy here all right, all right, all right. No keep-um boy, no give-um rifle. No get-um schooner, no get-um boy.”