he added a few dry sticks lying near. He found that Bill had done some cooking, and examining several cans near the stove he was pleased to learn that they contained cooked rice and dried fruit, while part of a loaf of sour-dough bread was lying on a biscuit box close at hand. Tom warmed some of the rice, cut a few slices of bread, which he spread with a liberal covering of jam from a recently opened tin. These he carried to the white man, and placed the plate upon the bunk.
“Eat,” he said, “Grub good, eh?”
“It’s nuthin’ but trash,” Bill growled as he took a little of the food. “Lord! I wish I had a good swig of hootch. That would put new life into me. But there’s not a drop anywhere in this hole.”
“Too much hootch in Injun camp,” Tom replied. “Bad white man mak’ Injun all sam’ crazee. Tom hurt, see?” and he placed his hand to his face.
“Who did that?” Bill asked.
“Jeree, white man. Plenty hootch. Jeree mad; hit Tom.”
“Where was that?”
“Injun camp, off dere,” and Tom motioned south.
“Was there another white man with Jerry?”
“Ah, ah, no savvey name. Beeg, bad face, all sam’ wolf.”
“Where did they come from?”
“Me no savvey.”
This information excited Bill, and he became very impatient. Once he scrambled out of the bunk, but so intense was the pain in his leg that he groaned in agony.
“I must git away from here,” he cried when Tom urged him to lie down again and be still. “This is too
