“Rats!” he snaps, disgusted as could be. “Maybe they ain’t enemies one way of lookin’ at it, but we kin play they are.”
“I s’pose so.”
“Anyhow, we won’t tell, and we’ll help him all we can.”
Sammy smiled so he showed all his white, even teeth, and bobbed his head at Mark.
“Fat boy good. Sammy like fat boy—sure.”
“I s’pose they’ll be lookin’ for him,” I guessed.
“’Tain’t likely they’ll strain theirselves,” Mark says. “All Sammy’s got to do is lay l-low.”
“He can live in our cave.”
“Sammy live in cave—sure. Roll in blanket and sleep. Catch fish in river, shoot, hunt.”
“You haven’t any gun.”