"All rancher my tillikum," he continued after an interval. "Ah-ha! Good! S'pose some time me mamook sick, me feel all same oleman—no more grub stop, no more smokin' stop—mebbyso all rancher potlatch grub, potlatch smokin', send doctin', send med'cin'? You kumtuks?"
He formulated this general scheme of pension and old-age insurance gravely. With five dollars in hand and a future provided for by grateful ranchers, he would be able to worship the Saghalie Tyee at the mission with a good heart.
"You don't want much," Sandy commented. "I guess we'd chip in, though, if you got up against the iron any time. Sure. S'pose you mamook sick, all rancher mamook help, give you muckamuck and smokin', stake you to doctor and dope; s'pose you go mimoluse, bury you in style."
Simon nodded, well pleased. A fine funeral thrown in for good measure suited his ideas perfectly. It was no more than his due for this evidence of friendship. So much for the future. Now for the present. He surveyed the five-dollar bill and chuckled.
"Tyee man hyas damfool!" said he. He cast a shrewd eye at the sun, which stood near the meridian. "Sitkum sun!" he announced.
"Noon—and that means you're hungry," said Sandy. "I never saw you when you weren't. Go on up to the house, and say I sent you. Muckamuck mika sick yakwahtin. Eat till your belly goes back on you, if you want to."
Simon grinned again; but he pointed to Sandy's feet.
"You mamook hyuhuy moccasin dam quick!" he warned once more.