“There’s a horse for you, chief,” said Featherweight, as Archie rode up and dismounted. “If he isn’t a good one I never saw one.”
A grunt was the only reply the Indian made. Whether it was intended to express contempt, or something else, the boys did not know. He gave Archie’s horse a good looking over, while the owner and his companions stood near, calm and indifferent to all outward appearance, but really very anxious, and impatient to hear his decision.
“Well, speak up,” said Eugene, as the Indian, having completed his examination, stepped back to take a general survey of the horse. “Will you trade?”
“You got blanket?” asked the savage.
“O, we’re not going to give you more boot than you can carry away—you may depend on that,” said Featherweight.
“I wouldn’t mind throwing in a pair of blankets,” said Archie.
“Good?” asked the Indian.
“Yes, they’ll be good. Not a hole in them.”
“And to make you feel a little better over it, perhaps we’ll add a pipe or two and some tobacco,” said Eugene.
“Five pounds?”