"All you have to do is to stand by and watch me.

You don't have to drink any of these fearful messes." However, Tom brought all his will power into play, swallowing a second brew, compared with which the first had been delicious.
"Eat this grass, too"?
inquired Tom, gazing at the squaw.
"Yes." Tom obeyed.
"I shall be very, very careful not to meet any more snakes," he shuddered, after getting the second dose down.
Now the squaw busied herself with spreading soaked herbs on a piece of cloth that she had torn from one of Tom's white shirts' to which she had helped herself from his dunnage box.
"What's a dollar shirt, anyway, when an interesting young man's life is at stake" mused Reade.

"Ow---ow---ooch!" "You baby---papoose ?" inquired the squaw calmly.

She had slapped on Tom's leg, over the bite, a poultice that, to his excited mind, was four hundred degrees hotter than boiling water.
"Oh, no," grimaced Tom.

"That's fine and soothing.