“The chief lived there, I guess,” Nicky broke in.
Tom nodded. “Yes,” he agreed. “He was in a hammock, lying there as though he were asleep, and he had a lot of his chief men sitting on low stools around his hammock. The rest of the place was simply packed with people, men and women.”
“It must have been a sight!” Cliff declared.
“It was. And they took us to stools in the center and let us sit down. There we sat and sat and sat!”
“I know,” Nicky agreed. “They keep you waiting for the chief.”
“Finally Bill got tired of it and stood up and made a ‘talk’ in his best Spanish, with signs and everything. He pointed to Jack, and said he was a doctor—of course we had given the chief our gifts at first and he didn’t bother to thank us. Bill made a good speech, if they understood it; they didn’t show whether they did or not!”
“Wooden Indians was a good name for them,” Bill said, coming up.
“Then we sat and sat and sat some more,” Tom went on. “It got to be noon and the place began to get pretty strong, with the heat and the sweating and packed people. But nothing happened.”
“It got so bad, finally,” Bill took up the story, “I felt like I had to have a smoke, and so did Jack. They hadn’t brought any sick people to be doctored, or made a move. And nobody talked. So I hauled out my stuff and rolled two cigarettes. And then—here’s where Tom comes in. Go ahead, Tom.”
“Bill didn’t have any matches—he’d used up all his packet the night before,” Tom explained. “So he felt around and looked blank and Jack had one match and he struck it and the head was wet so it didn’t go off.”