“I’m beyond y’u! I’m sure beyond y’u for once!” screeched Scipio, beating his crutch on the floor. “Oh, eat your grub, y’u fool.” “I’d have told y’u last night,” said Scipio, remorselessly, “only y’u were so awful anxious not to _be_ told.” As the Virginian drove him across the sage-brush, not to Sunk Creek, but to the new store, the suspense was once more too much for the Southerner’s curiosity. He pulled up the horses as the inspiration struck him. “You’re going to tell the Indians you’ll under-sell him!” he declared, over-hastily. “Oh, drive on, y’u fool,” said Scipio. The baffled Virginian grinned. “I’ll throw you out,” he said, “and break all your laigs and bones and things fresh.” “I wish Uncle was going to be there,” said Scipio. Nearly everybody else was there: the Agent, bearing his ill fortune like a philosopher; some officers from the Post, and the doctor; some enlisted men, blue-legged with yellow stripes; civilians male and female, honorable and shady; and then the Indians. Wagons were drawn up, ponies stood about, the littered plain was populous. Horacles moved behind the counter, busy and happy; his little mustache was combed, his ornamental hair was damp. He smiled and talked, and handled and displayed his abundance: the bright calicoes, the shining knives, the clean six-shooters and rifles, the bridles, the fishing-tackle, the gum-drops and chocolates--all his plenty and its cheapness. Squaws and bucks young and old thronged his establishment, their soft footfalls and voices made a gentle continuous sound, while their green and yellow blankets bent and stood straight as they inspected and purchased. High Bear held an earthen crock with a luxury in it--a dozen of fresh eggs. “Hey!” he said when he saw his friend “Sippo” enter. “Heap cheap.” And he showed the eggs to Scipio. He cherished the crock with one hand and arm while with the other hand he helped himself to the free lunch. To Scipio Horacles “extended” a special welcome; he made it ostentatious in order that all the world might know how perfectly absent “hard feelings” were. And Scipio on his side wore openly the radiance of brotherhood and well-wishing. He went about admiring everything, exclaiming now and then over the excellence of the goods, or the cheapness of their price. His presence was soon no longer a cause of curiosity, and they forgot to watch him--all of them except the Virginian. The hours passed on, the little fires, where various noon meals were cooked, burnt out, satisfied individuals began to depart after an entertaining day, the Agent himself was sauntering toward his horse. “What’s your hurry?” said Scipio. “Well, the show is over,” said the Agent. “Oh, no, it ain’t. Horacles is goin’ to entertain us a whole lot.” “Better stay,” said the Virginian. The Agent looked from one to the other. Then he spoke anxiously. “I don’t want anything done to Horacles.” “Nothing will be done,” stated Scipio.