A few rapid words from Shaw-ne-aw-kee had the desired effect. "Don't see what you want of those things," he observed; "they won't fit anybody."
"Pretty things," remarked Howard, sauntering up. "Whom are they for?"
"I—I—that is, I don't know," stammered Robert. "I just wanted them."
The Lieutenant laughed. "Oh, I see," he said. "Another case of Cinderella's slipper?"
"Yes, we'll let it go at that," returned Forsyth. He had regained his self-possession, but the colour still bronzed his cheeks.
When every possible exchange had been made, and every Indian had been given a small additional present, the room became quiet again. Black Partridge received a small silver ornament which Mackenzie had made for him during the long winter evenings, with manifestations of delight and gratitude.
"What's he saying, Uncle?" asked Robert.
"He's swearing eternal friendship for me and mine."
"Much good that does," said Howard, nonchalantly. "I'd trust a dead Indian a damn sight sooner 'n a live one."
Black Partridge may have caught the gist of what had been said, but he repeated his expressions of gratitude and his assurances of continued esteem. The room, by contrast, was very silent after he went out.