The Indians made strenuous efforts to maintain an air of dignified
indifference, but the glitter in their eyes betrayed their eagerness.
White Cloud picked up a goat skin, heavy with its deep silky fur and
with its rich splendour covered over the glittering mass of Raven's
cheap and tawdry stuff.
"Good trade," said White Cloud. "Him," pointing to the skin, "and,"
turning it back, "him," laying his hand upon the goods beneath.
Raven smiled carelessly, pulled out a flask from his pocket, took a
drink and passed it to the others. Desperately struggling to suppress
his eagerness and to maintain his dignified bearing, White Cloud seized
the flask and, drinking long and deep, passed it to his brother.
"Have a drink, Cameron," said Raven, as he received his flask again.
"No!" said Cameron shortly. "And I would suggest to your friends that
they complete the trade before they drink much more."
"My friend here says this is no good," said Raven to the Indians,
tapping the flask with his finger. "He says no more drink."
White Cloud shot a keen enquiring glance at Cameron, but he made no
reply other than to stretch out his hand for Raven's flask again. Before
many minutes the efficacy of Raven's methods of barter began to be
apparent. The Indians lost their grave and dignified demeanour.
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