squaw was not
particularly meek. She stood there sullenly while Injun Jim berated her in
the Indian tongue, and once she muttered a retort that made the old man's
fingers go groping over the blankets for a weapon; whereat the young squaw
laughed contemptuously and went out, sending Casey a side glance and a
fleeting smile as full of coquetry as ever white woman could employ.

The interruption silenced the old buck upon the subject of gold. Casey sat
there and chewed tobacco and waited, schooling his impatience as best he
could. Injun Jim muttered in Piute, or lay with his one eye closed. But
Casey knew that he did not sleep; his thin lips were drawn too tense for
slumber. So he waited.

Injun Jim opened his eye suddenly, looked all around the tepee and then
stared fixedly at Casey. "Young squaw no good. Heap much white talk.
Stealum gol' mine, mebby. I dunno." He gestured for his knife, and Casey
got it for him. Injun Jim fondled it evilly.

"Bimeby killum. Mebby. I dunno. Yo' ketchum jam, ketchum shirt--how many
jam yo' ketchum?"

Casey meditated awhile. He had not planned an exclusive jam diet for Injun
Jim, therefore his supply was getting low. But at the tenderfoot camp was
much more, enough to last Injun Jim to the border of the happy hunting
grounds,--if he did not loiter too long upon the way. There was no telling
how long Injun Jim would be able to eat jam, but Casey was a good gambler.

"If I go get a lot more, and get silk shirts--six," he counted with his
fingers, "you tell me where your gold mine is."

"Yo' bringum heap jam, bringum shirt. Me tellum." His one eye was bright.
"Yo' bringum jam. Yo' bringum shirt. Yol giveum me." He patted the bare
dirt beside the blankets, signifying that he wanted the jam and shirts
there, within reach of his hand. He even twisted his cruel old lips into a
smile. "Me tellum. Me shakeum hand."

He held out his left hand and Casey clasped it soberly, though he wanted
to jump up and crack his heels together,--as he confided afterwards. Injun
Jim laid the blade of his knife across the clasped hands.

"Yo' lie me, yo' die quick. Injun god biteum. Mebby snake. I dunno. How
long yo' ketchum heap jam, heap shirt?"

Now that he knew the way, Casey had in mind a certain short-cut that would
subtract two days from the round trip. He held up his hand, fingers
spread, and got up. Then he thought of the threat and added one of his
own.

"I've got a God myself, Jim. You lie about