Next morning saw many wagons come to the Fort, with squaws beside their Indian drivers. They stopped at the Colonel's house, the covers were removed, and great piles of beadwork, coats, leggings, moccasins, baskets, war-clubs, and other characteristic things of Indian work were revealed. It was made clear that these were offered as stakes; would the whites match up the goods? In a spirit of fun, at first, the women of the Fort, as well as the men, began offering household goods or personal gear; a frying pan against a baby-bag, a pair of corsets against a medicine flute, a bureau against a war bonnet. Then, bitten by the craze, they kept on till everything was matched and all the goods tied up in bundles, according to the established custom, to lie in the big, special tepee under guard. Another band of Red men followed with some tepees that they offered against government tents and, on being refused, finally wagered them against provender and hay. Each day there were new offers as groups of Indians came to the Fort, so that as soon as an Indian outfit on wheels came slowly up, it was quite understood that it was bringing new material to put up on the race. It was toward the end of the time that Red Cloud and his retinue came again, riding in much solemnity. Ignoring all others, he went to Colonel Waller's house and, in his usual deliberate way, after smoking, he began: "Maybe so, you bet big?" "Yes, indeed," was Waller's answer. "Good. We bet all Dakota. You bet United States. Maybe so--yes?" "No, no," laughed the Colonel. "You win, we go away out west. We win, you all go back east. Maybe so--yes?" "No," said the Colonel. "I am only a little chief. The Great High Chief, Unca-Sam, would not allow it." Red Cloud smoked a while, then resumed: "Heap afraid, maybe so?" Then, after a pause, "We bet Pine Ridge, you bet Fort Ryan--yes?" Again the Colonel had to protest that only the Great Father Unca-Sam could deal in such matters; and Red Cloud grunted, "Heap scared," made a gesture of impatience, and rode away. CHAPTER XXXIX Jim's Bet Jim Hartigan had as little interest in money as any Indian. All the things he loved and the pleasures he sought were the things that money could not buy. He wanted to ride and race, be alive, to love and be loved, to get the noblest animal joys, and soar a little--just a little--in the realm of higher things. Money as a power had not been listed in his mind, till a chance remark from Belle gave a wholly different trend to his thoughts. "Jim, if I had about a thousand dollars, I think I'd be tempted to risk it. I'd go to Deadwood and start a produce commission business there." That was all she said, and it was spoken lightly, but her words sank deep in Hartigan's mind.