one black eye, the other lid
lying in sunken folds across the socket. Casey was for once in his life
speechless. He had not expected to walk straight into the camp of Injun
Jim. He had thought that of course he would have to go on to Round Butte
and glean information there, perhaps; if he were exceptionally lucky he
would meet Indians who would tell him what he wanted to know. But here was
a one-eyed buck, and he was old, and he lived in the Tippipahs,--Injun Jim
by all description.

"Your squaw says you want tobacco." Casey advanced and held out the red
can. He knew better than to waste words, especially in the beginning.
Indians are peculiar; you must approach them by not seeming to approach at
all.

The old fellow grunted and turned the can over and over in clawlike hands,
and said he wanted a match and a paper. Casey went farther; he rolled a
cigarette and gave it to him and then rolled one for himself. They smoked,
there in that unsavoury tepee, saying nothing at all. Casey had achieved
the first part of his dream; he was making friends with Injun Jim.

Later he went down to his own camp, leading William. It was hard to wait
and watch for the proper moment to broach the subject that filled his
mind, and then induce the old Indian to talk. Casey was beginning to
understand why no one had wormed the secret from Jim. When you are
hundreds of miles and many months distant from a problem, it is easy to
decide that you will do so and so, and handle the matter differently from
the bungling men you have heard about. To find Injun Jim and get him to
tell where his gold mine was had seemed fairly easy to Casey when he was
driving stage elsewhere, and could only think about it. But when he
sat on his haunches in the tepee, smoking with Injun Jim and conversing
intermittently of such vital things as the prospect of rain that night,
and the enforced delay in his journey because his pack mule was lame,
speaking of gold mines in a properly disinterested and casual manner was
not at all easy.

However, Casey ate a very hearty supper and went to bed studying the
problem of somehow winning the old fellow's gratitude. Morning did not
bring a solution, as it properly should have done, but he ransacked his
pack, chose a small glass jar of blackberry jam and a little can of maple
syrup, fortified himself with another red can of tobacco and went up to
the camp, hoping for a streak of good luck. As for medicine, he hadn't a
drop, and