“You aim to try her in the dark?”
“There’s no wind, is there? There’s no danger, is there? They surface at night. I’m a hunter.” Camper twisted the head of a pin in the reel. “You took me for a tourist!” He reached across the table and shook Luke by the shoulder. “A sightseer! Why, hell, I was crawling around that river bed a whole year before they got anything like a staff of men out here. And I watched that boy drop out of sight almost before my eyes. Here, take a drink of this.”
They touched glasses and threw back their heads. The harmonica played again beyond the door.
“Say, listen,” said Camper, “before we get talking about it, and I know he’s your brother, I got something I’d like to ask you.”
Luke nodded, tightening his lips.
“I want to make a trade.”
“Well, now,” Luke lit up afresh and grinned, “I never mind a little bargaining.” He had bargained for Ma’s stove in a vacant barn on the edge of Clare, won against twenty bidders. When he bought his fourth plow pony from the Indians and paid them by note, the Mandan came with it carrying the tack, because of the color of his shirt and ferret jaws.
“I’ll oblige you. As best I’m able.” Hearing a slight sound or sensing that slit eyes had opened, darkly over his shoulder he added, “You keep yourself out of this, Sam. And bring another bottle.” His own eyes were on the man stopping in town just for the night, who might make of! before sunrise, leave quickly when there were others on the street or be two hundred miles away before finding himself the loser. Luke never moved his head.
“Well, I’ll tell you right off.” Camper leaned forward and flatly said, “I’ve got to have those steerhorn boots of yours.” He drank unsteadily and spoke before he finished wiping his mouth, “Got to. They’ve been on my mind ever since you fixed up the kid.”
Luke slumped back against the soft new paint of the booth. “I never do anything without considering it.” He spoke softly. “What would Bohn think if I gave away my boots?”