Bridger, less demonstrative, caught the old man's hand and shook it warmly. It surprised Lander to see two such stout fighting men willing to attribute fetish powers to a piece of steel. He understood Papa Clair's sentiment concerning his knives and he catered to it. But here were two veteran mountain men eager to pay a rare price for what after all was a well-sharpened knife ornamented with silver.
Bridger interrupted his meditations by abruptly offering him four hundred dollars a year if he would return with the Crows to their home in the Big Horn Valley and live with them during the winter and collect their trade for the Rocky Mountain Fur Company.
"They like you. They reckon you're big medicine. Your knife has brought you good luck."
Lander hesitated and Bridger urged:
"You can't go back to St. Louis. You've got to winter out here somewheres. They'll treat you mighty fine, and you'll have a chance to prove that Jim Bridger didn't tell no lies when he talked about the Yellowstone country."
"If you go then I shall go with you, my friend," added Papa Clair. "Caves of war-paint! Name of a pipe!"
