The suggestion was enough to wake their thirst; but they filed away sulkily behind their chief, and pitched their tepees across the ford on the flat near an aspen grove.
Later in the day several of the bucks came back, ostensibly to swap things with the cowboys, who were gathered about the old shack, Hanks having let them quit work somewhat earlier than usual. Pat was getting things ready for supper when they rode up. The Indians began to beg for tea, sugar, and everything else in sight, but they didn’t make much headway with Pat.
Finally one of them caught sight of a flask projecting from the Irishman’s hip pocket and said, “Gimme fire water.”
“Go way wid ye!” snapped Pat.
“Injun give gloves for bottle,” the buck went on, reaching out a gaudily beaded pair.
“Not a bloomin’ drap,” returned Pat in decided tones.
“Give shirt and gloves,” persisted the buck.
“Go long wid ye!” Pat grew stubborn.
“Give pony!”
“Not a drap, ye spalpeen! Didn’t I tell ye?”