The Indian with gleaming eyes threw on the pile some additional skins.
“Good!” said Raven, surrendering the flask. Swiftly the Indian caught it up and, seizing the cork in his teeth, bit it off close to the neck of the flask. Snatching his knife from his pocket with almost frantic energy, he proceeded to dig out the imbedded cork.
“Here,” said Raven, taking the flask from him. “Let me have it.” From his pocket he took a knife containing a corkscrew and with this he drew the cork and handed the flask back to the Indian.
With shameless, bestial haste the Indian placed the bottle to his lips and after a long pull passed it to his waiting brother.
At this point Raven rose as if to close the negotiations and took out his own flask for a final drink, but found it empty.
“Aha!” he exclaimed, turning the empty flask upside down. At once the Indian passed him his flask. Raven, however, waved him aside and, going to his pack, drew out a tin oil can which would contain about a gallon. From this with great deliberation he filled his flask.
“Huh!” exclaimed the Indian, pointing to the can. “How much?”
Raven shook his head. “No sell. For me,” he answered, tapping himself on the breast.
“How much?” said the Indian fiercely.
Still Raven declined to sell.