He now lay back on one arm, and, half closing his eyes, appeared as if he was going asleep; but at the least stir or movement on my part, I saw that his wild, red-streaked eyes followed me at once.
Halkett had given me a little bag of tobacco at parting, saying that although I was no smoker, I should soon learn to become one in my solitude. This I now produced, and offered him a handful.
The dark features were immediately lighted up with an almost frantic expression of pleasure, as he clutched the precious weed; and tearing off a fragment of the paper, he rolled it into the shape of a cigarette.
“No smoke?” asked he, as I sat watching his preparations.
I shook my head. “Ah!” cried he, laying down the tobacco before him. “Tehoka, here,” said he, pointing to it.
“I don't understand,” said I; “what is Tehoka?”
“Bad! bad!” said he, shaking both hands; “weed make negro so———, so———,” and he opened his mouth wide, and dropped his arms heavily backwards, to represent sickness, or perhaps death.
“No, no,” said I; “this is good, a friend gave it to me.”
“Smoke,” said he, pushing it over towards me; and I saw now that my abstaining had excited his suspicions.
“If you like, I will smoke,” said I, setting to work to manufacture a cigar like his own.