“No play much,” said the redskin. “Most forget how.”
He was permitted to win one or two small pots, which seemed so to elate him that he took another long pull at the bottle. His tongue grew thick and his eyes seemed to be glazy. At intervals he insisted on singing, and always the tune was a doleful dirge.
“I’ve traveled about heap much in my time,
Of troubles I’ve sure seen a few;
I find it heap better in every clime
To paddle my own canoe.”
“You’re certainly a musical cuss,” said Clinker; “but music and draw poker don’t go well together. Cut it out.”
“My cut?” grunted old Joe, reaching for the cards. “You no like-um music, hey? Shangowah he no sing much; he too old. He got rheumatiz in his voice. What you do ’round here?”
“We came here to play baseball,” explained Gentle Willie. “Know what that is?”
Crowfoot scratched his head.