d by one more suited to pony-loving young men.

Nothing having occurred, they returned before daylight to their own camp
so to inform the war-chief.

That day the Chis-chis-chash crowded around the barricade of the
Yellow-Eyes, but were admitted only a few at a time. They received many
small presents of coffee and sugar, and traded what ponies and robes
they could. At last it became the time for the Bat to go into the
trappers' circle. He noted the piles of bales and boxes as he passed
in, a veritable mountain of wealth; he saw the tall white men in their
buckskin and white blanket suits, befringed and beribboned_,_ their
long, light hair, their bushy beards, and each carrying a well-oiled
rifle. Ah, a rifle! That was what the Bat wanted; it displaced for the
time all other thoughts of the young warrior. He had no robes and came
naked among the traders--they noted him--only an Indian boy, and when
all his group had bartered what they had, the half-breed who had rode
with the peace branch spoke to him, interpreting:

"The white chief wants to know if you want to buy anything."

"Yes. Tell the white chief that I must have a gun, and some powder and
ball."

"What has the boy to give for a gun?" asked a long-bearded leader.

"A pony--a fast buffalo-pony," replied our hero through the half-breed.

"One pony is not enough for a gun; he must give three ponies. He is too
young to have three ponies," replied the trader.

"Say to the Yellow-Eye that I will give him two ponies," risked the Bat.

"No, no; he says three ponies, and you will not get them for less. The
white chief means what he says. He says you must leave here now with
those people so that older men can come and trade."

"Let me see the gun," demanded the boy. A gun was necessary for the
Bat's future progression.

A subordinate was directed to show a gun to him, which he did by taking
him one side and pulling one from a cart. It was a long, yellow-stocked
smoothbore, with a flintlock. It had many brass tacks driven into the
stock, and was bright in its cheap newness. As the Bat took it in his
hand he felt a nervous thrill, such as he had not experienced since the
night he had pulled the dripping hair from the Absaroke. He felt it
all over, smoothing it with his hand; he cocked and snapped it; and the
little brown bat on his scalp-lock fairly yelled: "Get your ponies, get
your ponies--you must have the gun."

Returning the gun, the Bat ran out, and after