"You'd sell your big gold pretty cheap," he commented drily.
"Think me lie?" the vagrant cried aggressively.
Rex could see that he was at that stage peculiar to red men's intoxication when they will sell their bodies or souls to satisfy the abnormal craving of their unbridled natures. The whiskey's flame licked through his veins, and there was no checking the thirst for fire-water which only drunken insensibility could satiate.
"I think you are imagining things," Rex replied, "and I have no whiskey to spare in barter. A mouthful of what you two wasted might have been useful some time in saving a life in this deadly cold."
"Me no lie," the muddled Indian persisted.
"You do," said Britton, with pointed sternness.
The Thron-Diuck's fingers fumbled in his rags for an instant and came forth closed.
"Think me lie!" he shouted dramatically. "Heap big gold–like that!"
From the Indian's extended palm, the yellow flash of native gold filled Britton's startled eyes.
