“Come now, Wahbunou, I just want to look at it,” Pa said. “I promise not to hurt you.”
But Wahbunou would not permit Pa to touch the bandage.
“Maybe I can show him something new, Pa, and get him calmed down a bit so you can have a look,” Jim suggested. “I’ll get your drum, Pa. Maybe he’s never seen a drum.”
Pa shrugged. “Indians have drums, Jim, though not like ours. All right, get it down for him.”
Jim climbed on a chair and lifted Pa’s drum from its place on the top of Ma’s high cupboard. “Look, Wahbunou.” Jim took the drumsticks and played a short ruffle on the drum.
Wahbunou seemed interested; he smiled as he reached for one of the sticks. He grasped it gingerly, turning it over and over, finally returning it to Jim who played another ruffle and a loud roll. Wahbunou smiled again and reached for the drum.
Jim nodded. “If you let Pa look at your shoulder, you may have it.” Jim pointed to the Indian boy’s shoulder and then to his father.
Wahbunou drew back, but finally nodded.
Pa took the bandage off, and gently pulled the rough splint back far enough to look at the boy’s shoulder. Then as gently, he replaced it. “Your wound is healing fine, Wahbunou. Soon you’ll be as good as new.”
Jim handed the drum to Wahbunou and the Indian boy beat out a queer, rhythmical sound with the palm of his hand. He didn’t seem to know how to use the drumsticks. Then the boys took turns beating it. Jim could make many fancy rolls and ruffles, but Wahbunou could make only the one sound.