reading still, and Scipio was still bent down, having some trouble with his boot. High Bear looked at the cards, shook his head sceptically, laughed a little, grunted once, and went out where his pony was tied. As he was throwing his soft buckskin leg over the saddle, there was Scipio’s head thrust out of the door and nodding strangely at him.
“Good night, High Bear. He big medicine-man.”
High Bear gave a quick slash to his pony, and galloped away into the dusk.
Then Scipio limped back into the store, sank into the first chair he came to, and doubled over. The Virginian looked up from his paper at this mirth, scowled, and turned back to his reading. If he was to be “left out” of the joke, he would make it plain that he was not in the least interested in it.
Scipio now sat up straight, bursting to share what was in his mind; but he instantly perceived how it was with the Virginian. At this he redoubled his silent symptoms of delight. In a moment Horacles had come back from the inner room with his hair wet with ornamental brushing.
“Well, Horacles,” began Scipio in the voice of a purring cat, “I expect y’u have me beat.”
The flattered clerk could only nod and show his bright, false teeth.
“Y’u have me beat,” repeated Scipio. “Y’u have for a fact.”
“Not you, Mr. Le Moyne. It’s not you I’m making war on. I do hope there’s no hard feelings—”