John Fitzgerald Read Online Free Page B

"Why do you want another cap pistol?" he
asked.
        "I'm just doing you a favor because
you're my friend," I said. "You told me this morning you wanted an
Indian suit and war bonnet."
        "I do," he said. "And I'll
tell you why. When we play cowboy and Indians or cavalry and Indians I never
get to be one of the tricky Indians. I've always wanted to be a tricky Indian
but couldn't because I didn't have an Indian suit and war bonnet. I'll trade
you, John. I only get to use the cap pistol on the fourth of July anyway. That
is the only time my folks will let me buy caps for it."
        I left Howard's home with the cap pistol
and holster. My next stop was the boardinghouse that Jimmie Peterson's mother
owned. Poor Jimmie had to peel potatoes for the boarders almost every day after
school. I found him on his back porch peeling spuds and dropping them into a
bucket of water. I showed him the cap pistol and holster. "How would you
like to own it?" I asked.
        He stood up and wiped his hands on the
front of his shirt. Then he put on the holster and made a couple of practice
draws with the cap pistol.
    "What do you
want for it?" he asked.
        "I remember you telling me one of your
mother's boarders gave you a scout knife for Christmas last year," I said.
"That means you've got two scout knives. I'll trade you the cap pistol and
holster for one of them.
        Jimmie thought for a moment. "A scout
knife is worth more than a cap pistol and holster," he said.
        "Just tell me how you can whittle or
do anything with two scout knives at the same time," I said. "It's
like having four legs when you only need two to walk on. I figured I was doing
you a favor by taking one of the knives off your hands and trading you
something you really need and want."
        I knew I had him when Jimmie made a couple
more practice draws.
        "I'll trade my old scout knife but not
the new one," he said.
    "It's a
deal," I said.
        I left Jimmie's back porch feeling mighty
proud of myself as a trader. I'd started out with Tom's old Indian suit and war
bonnet that was just lying around in our attic and now had a scout knife.
        The next day after school I told Frank
Jensen I wanted to talk to him. It was his brother Allan's week to do my chores. I knew their dog Lady had given birth to another
litter of pups, which were now weaned. Some mongrel dog was the father. They
had given away all but two pups which Frank and Allan had kept for themselves.
        "You told me yesterday that you wanted
a scout knife more than anything else," I said to Frank. "I'll trade
you a scout knife for a pup." I showed him the knife.
         He
opened all the blades to make sure none were broken. Then he looked at the
handle.
        "There is a piece of bone missing on
the handle," he said.
        "What did you expect for a mongrel
pup?" I demanded. "A brand new knife? If you
don't want to trade, just say so." But I knew from the way he was admiring
the knife that I had him.
    "I'll
trade," he said.
        I walked home with him and got the pup. My
next stop was Andy Anderson's house. Andy was a boy who had lost his left leg
just below the knee. He had a peg leg. He was in their woodshed chopping
kindling wood on a chopping block made from the trunk of a tree. He stared at
the puppy in my arms.
    "Where did
you get the pup?" he asked.
    "From Frank
Jensen," I answered.
        He slammed the hatchet into the chopping
block. "That ain't fair," he said.
"You already got two dogs. I asked Frank and Allan for a pup after my dog
died. But they said all the pups were spoken for."
        "They were," I said. "This
was Frank's own pup. I traded him a scout knife for it. And I'm here to do more
trading if you want the pup."
        Andy patted the pup on the head. "What
do you want for him?" he asked.
        "You are getting too big for that
wagon of yours," I said. "I'll trade you the pup for the wagon. Then
I'm going to trade the wagon to Roger