After making answer as above, the old fellow sat for some time with his head between his knees, chewing, mumbling, and growling, like a lean old wolf, angry at being disturbed in his meal.
“Come hyar, Rube! I want ye a bit,” continued Garey, in a tone of half entreaty.
“And so ’ee will want me a bit; this child don’t move a peg till he has cleaned this hyur rib; he don’t, now!”
“Dog-gone it, man! make haste, then!” and the impatient trapper dropped the butt of his rifle to the ground, and stood waiting in sullen silence.
After chewing, and mumbling, and growling a few minutes longer, old Rube, for that was the name by which the leathery sinner was known, slowly erected his lean carcass; and came walking up to the crowd.
“What do ’ee want, Billee?” he inquired, going up to the trapper.
“I want ye to hold this,” answered Garey, offering him a round white shell, about the size of a watch, a species of which there were many strewed over the ground.
“It’s a bet, boyee?”
“No, it is not.”
“Ain’t wastin’ yur powder, ar yur?”