“Listen,” he said. “I give you all you see here for your furs and a pony to pack them. That is my last word. Quick, yes or no? Tell them no more trifling, Little Thunder. The moon is high. We start in ten minutes.”
There was no further haggling. The Indians seemed to recognise that the time for that was past. After a brief consultation they grunted their acceptance and proceeded to pack up their goods, but with no good will. More vividly than any in the company they realised the immensity of the fraud that was being perpetrated upon them. They were being robbed of their whole winter's kill and that of some of their friends as well, but they were helpless in the grip of their mad passion for the trader's fire-water. Disgusted with themselves and filled with black rage against the man who had so pitilessly stripped them bare of the profits of a year's toil and privation, how gladly would they have put their knives into his back, but they knew his sort by only too bitter experience and they knew that at his hands they need expect no pity.
“Here,” cried Raven, observing their black looks. “A present for my brothers.” He handed them each a roll of tobacco. “And a present for their squaws,” adding a scarlet blanket apiece to their pack.
Without a word of thanks they took the gifts and, loading their stuff upon their remaining pony, disappeared down the trail.
“Now, Little Thunder, let's get out of this, for once their old man finds out he will be hot foot on our trail.”
With furious haste they fell to their packing. Cameron stood aghast at the amazing swiftness and dexterity with which the packs were roped and loaded. When all was complete the trader turned to Cameron in gay good humour.
“Now, Mr. Cameron, will you go passenger or freight?” Cameron made no reply. “In other words, shall we pack you on your pony or will you ride like a gentleman, giving me your word not to attempt to escape? Time presses, so answer quick! Give me twenty-four hours. Give me your word for twenty-four hours, after which you can go when you like.”
“I agree,” said Cameron shortly.
“Cut him loose, Little Thunder.” Little Thunder hesitated. “Quick, you fool! Cut him loose. I know a gentleman when I see him. He is tied tighter than with ropes.”
“It is a great pity,” he continued, addressing Cameron in a pleasant conversational tone as they rode down the trail together, “that you should have made an ass of yourself for those brutes. Bah! What odds? Old Macdougall or some one else would get their stuff sooner or later. Why not I? Come, cheer up. You are jolly well out of it, for, God knows, you may live to look death in the face many a time, but never while you live will you be so near touching the old sport as you were a few minutes ago. Why I have interfered to save you these three times blessed if I know! Many a man's bones have been picked by the coyotes in these hills for a fraction of the provocation you have given me, not to speak of Little Thunder, who is properly thirsting for your blood. But take advice from me,” here he leaned over towards Cameron and touched him on the shoulder, while his voice took a sterner tone, “don't venture on any further liberties with him.”