Then I knew that I must make amends.
"The beauty of your hair is like the black ice with the moon on it," I
said in Ottawa. "You must not soil it."
She giggled with pleasure to hear me use her own tongue, and would have
come close to me again, but I motioned her away.
"Stay there, and catch this," I called, and I tossed her a small coin.
For all her squat figure and her broad, dull face, she was quick of
action as a weasel. She put her hands behind her, and, thrusting her
head forward, caught the coin in her teeth. It was well done; so well
that I said "Brava," and the braves around me gave approving grunts.
"Look at the stupid Frenchman!" I heard a brave say. "For all his red
coat, and his manners, he cannot catch as well as a squaw."
I pointed my finger at him, and twirled my mustaches as if I were
playing villain in a comedy. "A Frenchman does not stoop to catch
money," I vaunted, with my arm akimbo. "Money is for slaves and women.
Give the Frenchman a spear, a man's weapon, and then see if he can be
beaten at throwing by a squaw."
There was a laugh at this, and the squaw to whom I had thrown the coin
seized a sturgeon spear that leaned against a kettle, and hurled it at
me.
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