“Hello!” said the white man. “Sit down.”
“You got that?” said the Indian, standing.
“More water medicine? I guess so. Take a seat.”
“No, not boil any more. You got that other?”
“That other, eh? Well, now, you’re not going to blind them yet? What’s your hurry?”
“Yes. Make blind to-morrow. Me great chief!”
A slight uneasiness passed across the bantering face of Kinney. His Seltzer salts performed what he promised, but he had mentioned another miracle, and he did not want his dupe to find him out until a war was thoroughly set agoing. He looked at the young Indian, noticing his eyes.
“What’s the matter with you, anyway, Cheschapah?”
“Me great chief!” The raised voice trembled with unearthly conviction.
“Well, I guess you are. I guess you’ve got pretty far along,” said the frontier cynic. He tilted his chair back and smiled at the child whose primitive brain he had tampered with so easily. The child stood looking at him with intent black eyes. “Better wait, Cheschapah. Come again. Medicine heap better after a while.”