"Let's go to your camp. Take your furs. He is a thief, a robber, a
bad man. All that," sweeping his hand towards Raven's goods, "no good.
This," kicking the keg, "bad. Kill you."
These words they could not entirely understand, but his gestures were
sufficiently eloquent and significant. There was an ugly gleam in
Raven's eyes and an ugly curl to his thin lips, but he only smiled.
"Come," he said, waving his hand toward the furs, "take them away. Tell
them we don't want to trade, Little Thunder." He pulled out his flask,
slowly took a drink, and passed it to Little Thunder, who greedily
followed his example. "Tell them we don't want to trade at all,"
insisted Raven.
Little Thunder volubly explained the trader's wishes.
"Good-bye," said Raven, offering his hand to White Cloud. "Good
friends," he added, once more passing him his flask.
"Don't!" said Cameron, laying his hand again upon the Indian's arm. For
a single instant White Cloud paused.
"Huh!" grunted Little Thunder in contempt. "Big chief scared."
Quickly the Stony shook off Cameron's hand, seized the flask and,
putting it to his lips, drained it dry.
"Come," said Cameron to the other Stony. "Come with me."
Raven uttered a warning word to Little Thunder. The Indians stood for
some moments uncertain, their heads bowed upon their breasts.
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