Page:The trail of the golden horn.djvu/228

224 while his eyes gleamed with indignation. “Bad white man mak’ Injun all sam’ crazee. White man tote hootch, mak’ Injun drunk. Gikhi no do dat.”

Tom paused, stepped closer to the bunk, and looked keenly into Bill’s face.

“Bill say ’ligion no good, eh?” he asked.

“That’s what I said,” was the reply. A groan of pain suddenly burst from his lips, followed by blood-curdling oaths.

“Stop dat,” Tom sternly ordered.

The injured man looked up in surprise, and was somewhat awed by the Indian’s manner.

“Why should I stop?” he asked. “I can swear an’ curse if I want to. Religion means nothing to me. I’m not afraid of hell.”

“Bill no ’fraid of hell, eh? Bill no like pain. Bill cry all sam’ babee. Bill cry more bimeby, mebbe.”

“What do you mean?”

“Tom leave Bill, mebbe. Tom go ’way. Bill no want Tom. Bill die, eh?”

It was not difficult for the white man to understand the meaning of these words. He believed that the Indian meant what he said, and the thought of being left there alone was terrible. He recalled the past night of suffering and despair when he had writhed in agony of body and mind. The swelling in his foot was most menacing, and was steadily creeping upwards until his whole leg from foot to hip was badly inflamed. He felt that there was nothing that could relieve him, but he did not want to be alone. It was some consolation to have some one with him, even though it was only an Indian.

“Don’t leave me,” he cried, reaching out his right