Mistihkoman sat at the table stiffly. When he'd walked into the Texas he had meant only to trade the pelts he'd picked up. And get a small sum from it before heading back north. He'd wanted to avoid the glares and dirty looks the residents had started to give him the moment he'd come into town. Even if it's clear he's no member of the Apache, the Comanche or the Delaware, he's still an First Nations or Indian person from the America's. Canada treats his people and cousins a little differently from the States, so he'd not wanted to stay too long.

But someone had seen him pocketing several bills of money, and had dragged him into the saloon, despite his wish to not do so. the Firewater isn't exactly healthy. But he'd stayed, refused to pay for drinks of anyone else but himself and sat, watched, ignoring the attempts by people to get him to pay for their drinks. His Rifle, bow and the rifle club had been taken, but he still had his knife and tomahawk hidden under his vest just in case. He sniffs, and looks at the cards in his hand. He's not sure how he ended up at the table. He'd been sipping at a glass of whiskey before he'd been invited to sit at the table. And now several hands in he looks at the small stack of dollars. So far it's gone well.

As he sets his cards down on the table, looking over at one of the spectators saying something about how he's not playing standard Indian Cards. Something about one on the head if you don't see it you lose. The short indian just narrows his eyes. Then turning back to look Logan, "[i]Moniyew[/i] wants his [i]soniyew[/i] back? Logan must win this hand then." He reaches down picks up one of the coins he won and flips it between his fingers, "We start yes?"

[hider=Cree Translations]

Moniyew = White Man

Soniyew = money/dollars/payment

[/hider]