"Oh, I'll come along tomorrow, Dad," said Billy carelessly. "Today I'm going to the Trading Post and see the Indian stuff there."
"Well, do as you like, Son," said his father, "but don't be annoyed if you don't win the contest."
"I'll write something yet, Dad, you'll see."
Peanuts and Billy found themselves at the Trading Post in the heat of the day. Billy tied the pony in the shade and went into the store. It was filled with a mixed assortment of objects. On one side of the room were groceries, pots and pans, cigarettes, in fact a little bit of everything necessary for housekeeping. On the other side were the Indian curios—silver and matrix jewelry, beautifully fashioned with blue stones set in, handsome Navajo blankets hanging on the wall, pottery of all kinds, and beads, beads, beads.
Billy wandered about the store and he thought of his mother, and how she would like something to take home as a souvenir. The beads looked hopeful, as he could carry them, while a pottery jar or blanket would be big and heavy. Taking from his pocket his two dollars and some few cents, he selected the string of beads which looked most likely.
One string in particular very much pleased him. It was delicately made, but looked simple enough to be within reach of his two dollars. The shop-keeper was chewing tobacco in the corner. He was a white man made brown by the Arizona sun and wind.
"How much is this string?" asked Billy, holding it up for the man to see.
"That one's fifty dollars!"
"Fifty what?" asked Billy, dazed.
"Fifty dollars, Son," repeated the man, "and that's one of the cheapest."