“Tell me another story, Half-a-Day,” I said.
He grunted and puffed at his pipe in silence.
“Have I not given much cow meat to the feast and did I not throw silver on the drums?”
“Ah,” he assented.
“Then I wish to hear a story.”
“You are my friend,” he began with majestic deliberation, speaking in his own tongue; “for we have eaten meat together from the same kettle and looked upon each other through the pipe smoke. It will therefore make me glad to tell you a story about buffalo meat——”
“Ah, about a hunt?”
“And a me-zhinga [girl]——”
“Oh, a love story!”
“And a man whom I wished to kill.”