"Some tam she am wan ting, some tam she am anodder."
"That is evading the question," said Chrissy.
"What kind of a Manitou have you got inside of that little bag which is tied round your neck?" persisted Bearie. "Will you let me see it?"
"No! No!! No!!!" he said excitedly. "My Manitou she am not be pleese."
"Come, now, old man," he said. "Tell us all about it."
"What is it?"
"How did you get it?"
"What is it for?"
"Waal," he said, reluctantly, "When I am a boy, me, just become a man, my fadder, he say, 'Machecawa, tam you got a manitou.' My face he paint black, black. He say, heem, 'you no eat no teeng seex days.' By em by I am dream some teeng, me, dat some teeng she am my manitou. She help me kill beeg bear; she mak dem Iroquois dogs run like one wild moose. My fadder she am pleese; she make my manitou on my arm—see!" he said, rolling up his sleeve.
On his shoulder was the rude outline of a fish, which had been tatooed with sharp bones and with the juice of berries rubbed in.