"Hey, y' ol' pirate! Y' don't need fer to empty it all to wunst. Set roun' a while, an' bimeby we'll have 'nother. 'S all on me to-day; this here's my party."
They seated themselves on the ground and engaged in conversation, in which Creed did most of the talking.
"Trade rifles?" asked Blood River Jack, idly picking up Creed's gun and examining it minutely.
"Beats all how a Injun allus wants to be a tradin'," grinned Creed. "Don't know but what I mought, though, at that. What's yourn?"
"Winchester, 30-40," replied Jacques, handing it over for inspection.
"Mine, too," said Creed; "only mine's newer. What'll y' give to boot?" Jacques did not hurry his answer, being engaged in removing the cartridges for the better inspection of magazine and chamber.
"Mine's better kep'," he opined after a careful squinting down the muzzle.
"Kep' nawthin'! 'S all nicked up. An', besides, it pulls hard."
Jacques was deliberately refilling the magazine, but so intent was Creed in picking out fancied defects in the other's weapon that he failed to notice that the cartridges which were being placed in his own rifle had had their bullets carefully drawn, while his original cartridges reposed snugly in the pocket of the half-breed's mackinaw.
"Tell y' what I'll do," said Creed, speaking in a tone of the utmost generosity. "Give me ten dollars to boot, an' we'll call it a trade."