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 if he had he did not know for certain what ailed Injun Jim.

He thought it was just old age and general cussedness.
Injun Jim ate the jam, using a deadly looking knife and later his fingers, when the jam got low in the jar.