THE TORRENTS OF SPRING 63
"Oh, I'm not one of those Sitting Bulls," Mr. Sitting Bull said.
"Chief Running Skunk-Backwards's great-grandfather once sold the entire Island of Manhattan for a few strings of wampum," Red Dog explained.
"How very interesting," Yogi said.
"That was a costly bit of wampum for our family," Chief Running Skunk-Backwards smiled ruefully.
"Chief Running Skunk-Backwards has some of that wampum. Would you like to see it?" Red Dog asked.
"Indeed, I would."
"It's really no different from any other wampum," Skunk-Backwards explained deprecatingly. He pulled a chain of wampum out of his pocket, and handed it to Yogi Johnson. Yogi looked at it curiously. What a part that string of wampum had played in this America of ours.
"Would you like to have one or two wampums for a keepsake?" Skunk-Backwards asked.
"I wouldn't like to take your wampum," Yogi demurred.
"They have no intrinsic value really," Skunk-Backwards explained, detaching one or two wampums from the string.
"Their value is really a sentimental one to Skunk-Backwards's family," Red Dog said.
"It's damned decent of you, Mr. Skunk-Backwards," Yogi said.
"It's nothing," Skunk-Backwards said. "You'd do the same for me in a moment."
"It's decent of you."
Behind the bar, Bruce, the Negro bartender, had been
