the finger with the nonchalance of a two-year-old.
"Hunh. Got heap big gol' mine, me. No can go ketchum two year, mebby. I
dunno. Feet no damn good for walk. Back no damn good for ride. No ketchum
gol' long time now."

Casey took a chew of tobacco. This was getting to the point he had been
aiming for, and he needed his wits working at top speed.

"Well, if you got a gold mine, you can eat jam all the time. Drink whisky,
too," he added, hushing his conscience peremptorily. "If you've got a
white man that's your friend, he might take your gold to town and buy
whisky and jam."

Injun Jim considered, his finger searching for more jelly. "White man no
good for Injun, mebby. I dunno. Ketchum gol', mebby no givum. Tell all
white mans. Heap mans come. White man horses eat grass. Drink all water.
Shootum deer, shootum rabbit, shootum all damn time. Make big house. Heap
noise all time. No place for Injuns no more. No good."

"White man not all same, Jim. One white man maybe good friend. Help get
gold, give you half. You buy lots of jam, lots of whisky, lots of silk
shirts, have good time." Casey looked at him straight. He could do it,
because he meant what he said; even the whisky, I regret to say.

Injun Jim accepted a cigarette and smoked it, saying never a word. Casey
smoked the mate to it and waited, trying to hide how his fingers trembled.
Injun Jim turned himself painfully on the blankets and regarded Casey
steadily with his one suspicious eye. Casey met the look squarely.

"You got more shirt?" Jim's finger pointed at the blue and green stripes.
"Yo' got more jam? You bringum. Heap sick, me, mebby die. Me no takeum
gol' me die. No wantum, me die. Yo' mebby good man. I dunno. Me ketchum
heap jam, ketchum heap silk shirt, ketchum heap 'bacco, heap whisky, mebby
me tellum you where ketchum gol' mine. Me die, yo' heap rich--"

He turned suddenly, lifted his right arm and sent his knife swishing
through the air. It sliced its way through the tepee wall and hung there
quivering, Caught by the hilt. Injun Jim called out vicious, Piute words.
"Hahnaga!" he commanded fiercely. "Hahnaga!"

The lean old squaw came meekly, stood just within the tepee while her lord
spat words at her. She answered apathetically in Piute and backed out.
Presently she returned, driving before her a young squaw whom Casey had
not before seen. The young squaw was holding a hand upon her other arm,
and Casey saw blood between her fingers. The young