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.