“I reck-ong,” drawled Black Pete, who ran the games at Raftery’s when there was any money in sight. “I reck-ong too mebbe he get handle more rough some tam ef he’s hang ‘round long wid dem two squaw. Tha’ small squaw’s too chic, she, to b’long to ol’ bum lak heem.”
The assembled gents laughed. Had they seen the “ol’ bum” at that moment their laughter would have been cut short. Reivers, in a gully out of sight of the settlement, had thrown away his hooch, pitched camp, tethered the dogs and made all secure with a swiftness and efficiency that belied the characterisation Black Pete had applied to him. He had the two tepees set up far apart, the dogs tied between them, and Tillie and Neopa had one tepee, and Reivers the other, alone.
Having made camp, Reivers knew what the boys would expect of him in his character of sodden squaw-man. Having resolved to use the most shameful means in the world to achieve his end, he played his base part to perfection.
“Do you take this chunk of meat,” he directed Tillie, “and go down to the saloon and get another bottle of hooch. Yes, yes; I know I have destroyed one bottle. You are not to ask questions but to obey my commands. Go down and trade the meat for hooch. Do not stop to speak to the white men. Come, back at once. Go!”
But down in Raftery’s the assemblage had no hint of these swift changes, and they laughed merrily at Black Pete’s remarks.
“What d’you reckon his lay is, Jack?” asked one.
“Booze,” replied Raftery instantly. “Nothing else. When you see a man who’s sure been as good a man in his day as this relic, trailing ’round with squaw folks, you can jest nacherlly whittle a little marker for him and paint on it, ‘’Nother white man as the hooch hez got.’ Sabbe? I trace him out as some prospector who’s got crippled up and been laying out ’mongst the Indians with a good supply of the ol’ frost-bite cure ’longside of ’im. Nothin’ to do but tuh hit the jug offen enough to keep from gettin’ sober and remembering what he used to was. Sabbe? Been layin’ out sucking the neck of a jug till his ol’ thinker’s got twisted.
“I’ve seen dozens of ’em. You can’t fool me when I see one, and I saw him when he was comin’ through the door. Ran out o’ hooch and was afraid he’d get sober, so he comes down here to get soaked up some more. Brings his load o’ meat ‘long to trade in, an’ these two brown dolls to make sure in case the caribou have been down this way, which they ain’t. Bet the drinks against two bits that he’ll be chasin’ one o’ the squaws down here for another bottle before an hour’s gone. They all do. I’ve seen his kind before.”
Black Pete took the bet.
“Because I’m onlucky, moi, lately, an’ I want to lose this bet,” he explained.