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"Y' mean y' mean my name ain't Smith," faltered Johnnie, who had, for a moment, been too stunned by the news to speak. "Smith was the first name Mr. Barber could think up," explained Father Pat, "when he made up his mind t' take ye, Mr. Davis bein' gone t' the hospital." One-Eye burst out. "Never liked the name!" he declared.
For one thing, he had not half inspected that mammoth basement not to mention the huge, dim place overhead. And the horse that had kicked him merited a second look. But "Let's go whilst the goin's good," counseled One-Eye. So Johnnie fell in beside him, holding well to the front that interesting bandage. "Y' live far?" One-Eye wanted to know.
The dog was crouching and creeping as if he had his remaining eye upon game of some sort or on danger. His master also crouched and crept, slipping forward rapidly from rock to rock. In three minutes more he lay beside One-eye, and they both had something worth while to look at.
"An' One-eye Beljus wanted to know if Genesis knew Willie, because One-eye Beljus wanted to know if Genesis thought Willie could get the three dollars an; sixty cents, an' One-eye Beljus wanted to know if Genesis thought he could get anything more out of him besides that.
By the end of the week the trade went slack. There was only the slightest dribble of gold. An occasional penny was reluctantly disposed of for ten sticks, while several thousand dollars in silver came in. On the morning of the eighth day no trading was done. The gray-beards had matured their plan and were demanding twenty sticks for a penny, One-Eye delivered the new rate of exchange.
As he did so, with another down-jerk of the chin, and another leap, once more the scoutmaster rammed him upon the left eye. And followed this up with a lightning stroke on that big, twisted nose. At this, Big Tom made a rush. So far, the fight was not of the kind he had waged with One-Eye a rough-and-tumble affair in which brute strength and weight counted in his favor.
Kukor says they'll make it taste fine! I'll give Mister Barber a bowl t' eat it out of. My! how he'll smack!" At this point, the wide, old boards of the floor gave a telltale snap. It was behind him, and so loud that it shattered his vision of Big Tom and the pudding bowl. Some one was in the room! Father Pat? Mrs. Kukor? One-Eye? He turned a smiling face.
And as each day went by, he came to wonder more and more about the reality of One-Eye, though the passing time as steadily added romantic touches to the figure of the Westerner. Often at night Johnnie held long conversations with him, confessing how much he missed him, thanking him for past favors, begging him to return. "Oh, One-Eye, are y' mad at me?" he would implore.
At first the potato would not agree to this at all, but after a while it said, "Very well, I will wait till to-morrow. But remember, my Wry-Face, if to-morrow you do not carry me home to One-Eye, I will creep into every pie you make; and you will die at last of starvation without a doubt!" So Wry-Face stored the potato in the potato-bin, and he went supperless to bed.
When some of the Meat-Eaters tried to climb the tree, Boo-oogh had to show himself in order to drop stones on their heads, whereupon the other Meat-Eaters, who were waiting for that very thing, shot him full of arrows. And that was the end of Boo-oogh. "Next, the Meat-Eaters got One-Eye and his family in his cave.
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