"Drink!" Tom nearly dropped it, it was so hot.
"Drink!" repeated the squaw.
"But it's so hot it'll burn my gullet out," remonstrated Reade.
"You know more I do ?" demanded the squaw stolidly.

"Drink!" Tom took a sip, and shuddered from the intense heat of the stuff.
"Humph! White man him heap papoose!" muttered the squaw, scornfully.
"You want live, drink!" Tom took a longer swallow of the hot stuff.

Whew, but it was bitter! "The bronze lady is trying to turn me inside out!" gasped the boy to himself.
"Drink---all down!" commanded the squaw with scarcely less scorn than before in her voice.
This time Tom took a hard grip on himself and swallowed all the liquid.

For a moment, he thought the nauseating stuff would kill him.
"Now, eat grass," ordered the squaw.
"Meaning eat these herbs," demanded Tom, glancing up.
"Yes.

Heap quick." "To make a fellow eat these herbs after drinking the brew from them is what I call rubbing it in," grimaced Reade.
"Now, this," continued the squaw, calmly handing a second cup to Tom.
"It's all right for _you_ to be calm," thought Tom, as he took the cup from her.