"Look you here, old grey-beard," said Ishmael, seizing the trapper,
and whirling him round as if he had been a top; "that I am tired of
carrying on a discourse with fingers and thumbs, instead of a tongue,
ar' a natural fact; so you'll play linguister and put my words into
Indian, without much caring whether they suit the stomach of a Red-
skin or not."
"Say on, friend," calmly returned the trapper; "they shall be given as
plainly as you send them."
"Friend!" repeated the squatter, eyeing the other for an instant, with
an expression of indefinable meaning. "But it is no more than a word,
and sounds break no bones, and survey no farms. Tell this thieving
Sioux, then, that I come to claim the conditions of our solemn
bargain, made at the foot of the rock."
When the trapper had rendered his meaning into the Sioux language,
Mahtoree demanded, with an air of surprise--
"Is my brother cold? buffaloe skins are plenty. Is he hungry? Let my
young men carry venison into his lodges."
The squatter elevated his clenched fist in a menacing manner, and
struck it with violence on the palm of his open hand, by way of
confirming his determination, as he answered--
"Tell the deceitful liar, I have not come like a beggar to pick his
bones, but like a freeman asking for his own; and have it I will.
Pages:
617
618
619
620
621
622
623
624
625
626
627
628
629
630
631
632
633
634
635
636
637
638
639
640
641