His helpless and absurd appearance seemed to restore Raven's good
humour.
"Now, then," he said, turning to the Stonies and resuming his careless
air, "we will finish our little business. Sit down, Mr. Cameron," he
continued, with a pleasant smile. "It may be less dignified, but it is
much more comfortable."
Once more he took out his flask and passed it round, forgetting to take
it back from his Indian visitors, who continued to drink from it in
turn.
"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.
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