“Good-by, den, cap’n,” said the negro, extending his hand to Running Water. “Ef you come my way, gib me a call, sah, and I’ll be glad to see you.”
“Wait!” said the savage, who was not yet ready to let his visitor depart, for he had given orders to have a patient brought in, to obtain the benefit of his healing powers.
In a few minutes, a tall, olive-colored lad was led in, and was conducted up to Joe, evidently in a state of considerable apprehension.
“Him sick,” said the chief. “Burn, burn now, by an’ by shaky—shaky with cold—un’stan’?”
“Goodness gracious—yes! He’s got the fever an’ agur, I s’pose.”
“Cure him!” said Running Water.
“Wot! I cure him!”
“Yes—you wise man—medicine man,” repeated the other persuasively.
Joe laughed and reflected. It could do no harm to encourage this notion, and might do some good. He happened to have in his pocket a corkscrew, and he was pretty sure that the Indian had never seen such a utensil.