An awful contortion took place upon the Seminole's mahogany features.
He was trying to grin.
"You give good Seminole why-o-me," he said, ceasing his paddling to rub his stomach. "Willy Tiger——"
"High Pockets!"
"Willy High Pock' sick. Why-o-me make strong."
"So that's how they miscall hooch down in this country," ruminated Higgins. "No, Willy; we don't pack any liquor. Shall I give him a piece of plug?"
"Suit yourself—if you've got any."
"Got any? Never go into an Indian country without it."
Higgins produced from his bag a slab of plug tobacco which made Willy's mouth water.
"Willy," said Payne suddenly, "who is Mr. Garman?"
"Donno."