Casey grinned disarmingly.
"Me ketchum heap jam for Injun Jim.

Heap silk shirts.

Me go tellum," he said.
"Are those they ?" the young squaw inquired calmly, and pointed to William.
Casey jumped.

Any man would, hearing that impeccable sentence issue from the lips of a squaw with a blanket over her head.
"Uh-huh," he gulped.
"My father is dead.

He died yesterday from eating too much pickles that you gave him.