The old Indians that had gathered around stopped the fracas, or I guess there would have been another camp fight.
Mother went for the medicine man. When he came he said that it was a very bad bite, and that we must be very careful or blood poison would set in. He said that the dog would have to be killed. I told him that I thought the dog would die if they let him alone.
“But he must be killed before he dies,” said the medicine man.
This made me laugh.
The cut in my leg was “V” shaped, and the piece of flesh hung only by the skin.
“Ouch!” I cried, when he tried to put it back in place.
“What did you say?” he asked.
“Ouch!”
“What is that?”
“I don’t know.”