“It’s quite a heft even for Sammy,” I told him.
“He’s got to carry it.”
We rowed up the river again and landed near the cave. Sammy was there, all right, because his fire was smoldering, so we climbed up the hill and hollered at him. He came sticking his big head out of the opening and grinned at us like he was tickled to death to see us, which most likely he was, and says, “Nice fish—bass. So big. Sammy fry in pan, quick. Sammy good cook.”
“We ain’t got time to eat to-day, Sammy,” I told him; and he looked as disappointed as a baby that didn’t get the candy somebody promised it.
“We got to go up the river in my boat,” I says, quick, “and we want you to come along.”
He grinned again, and all his teeth showed as white as polished pebbles. “Catch fish, maybe, eh? Good boys, big friends to poor Sammy. Sammy show where to catch fish—big fish.”
“Not to catch fish this time. You tell him, Mark.”
“We want you to help us, Sammy. Some men have taken father’s engine, and we got to git it back. They’re b-b-bad men, Sammy, and they might hurt us. And there’s a dog.”
He grinned wider than ever. “Sammy take dog—so.” He showed us with his big hands how he’d grab the dog and throw it far enough to bust its neck—and I bet he could have done it, too. “Bad men take engine, eh? Um! Sammy git it back. No ’fraid of bad men. Sammy big, very big. Bad men afraid of Sammy, eh? Sammy scare bad men so they keel over flipflop.”
I thought likely Batten might keel over flipflop if he met Sammy on a dark night, and somehow it made me feel better about the whole thing. Sammy was big. Why, it would have taken all of Batten and Willis and half of the dog to make another like him—and then Sammy could have licked the fellow they went to make up.