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"S'pose you take talk-talk paper by Kadiak, we give-um one rifle." The chief grinned broadly and reached out his hand to take Rob's rifle from him, but the latter drew it back. "No give-um rifle now," he insisted. "When bidarka go, you take-um talk-talk paper, we give-um rifle. No! No give-um rifle now. We keep-um boy here all right, all right, all right. No keep-um boy, no give-um rifle.
The chief seemed sulky and not disposed to argue, but the young boy at his side spoke to him rapidly for a time, and for some reason he seemed mollified. Rob pressed the advantage. Drawing a piece of worn paper from his inner coat-pocket, he made signs of writing with a stub of pencil which he found in another pocket. "You see talk-talk paper?" he went on.
"My peoples go now," he said. "Me like-um lifle." "When you go Kadiak?" asked Rob. "Maybe seven week, four week, ten nine week all light, all light, all light," said the chief, amiably. "You make-um talk-talk ting. Give me! You give-um lifle now." Rob turned to the other boys. "We'll hold a council," said he. "Now, what do you think is best to do?" The others remained silent for a time.
"My word," she went on. "One big fella talk. Sun he go down talk-talk; sun he come up talk-talk; all the time talk-talk. What name that fella talk-talk? "Oh, nothing much." He shrugged his shoulders. "They were trying to buy Berande, that was all." She looked at him challengingly. "It must have been more than that. It was you who wanted to sell."
Quickly but warily he followed, searching each nook as he went, but the dim light of the dying fire showed him nothing but the black walls and gloomy recesses of the great cave. At the farther entrance he found Jerry awaiting him. "Where are they gone?" he asked. "Beeg camp close by," replied Jerry. "Beeg camp much Indian. Some talk-talk, then go sleep.
"Do you think that'll do all right, boys?" he asked. The others nodded assent, and so each signed his name. Folding up the paper and tying it in a piece of the membrane which he cut off a corner of his kamelinka, Rob finally gave the packet to the old chief. "Plenty talk-talk thing," he said. "You bring peoples get-um schooner my peoples give-um flour, sugar, two rifle, hundred dollars."
June was going out in a wave of torrid heat such as August might have boasted. The day had seemed endless and intolerably close. I was feeling very limp and languid. Perhaps, thought I, it was the heat which had wilted Blackie's debonair spirits. "It has been a long time since we've had a talk-talk, Blackie. I've missed you. Also you look just a wee bit green around the edges.
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