“Whyome (whiskey), you got um?”

“Whyome holowaugus (bad), no got um,” replied Ned.  The Indian grunted again and conversation ceased.  Dick was sitting on the edge of the table which serves also as floor in a Seminole camp, when he heard a low growl just over his head.  He looked up and saw, crouched on a shelf within four feet of him, a full-grown wild-cat, or bay lynx, which seemed disposed to spring at him.  Dick tried to keep from showing how much he was scared, but he asked Ned to find out if the wild-cat would bite.  To Ned’s question, the Indian nodded emphatically and replied,

“Um, um, unca, ojus (yes, heap).”  Dick moved away, but the creature fascinated him and he came back.  Dick never could resist the temptation to play with wild animals and he put out his hand to the wild-cat, saying: 

“If that Injun can tame that beast, I can.”

“That Injun understands you, just as well as I do.  He only pretends he doesn’t so as to make us try to talk his confounded lingo.”

A half smile stole over the stolid face of the Indian, either on account of what Ned was saying or because Dick’s hand was slowly approaching the wild-cat.  The paw of the lynx flashed out and back so quickly that it could scarcely be seen, but the blood began to flow from several deep, parallel cuts on the back of the boy’s hand.  Dick still held out his hand, scarcely moving a muscle, while Ned called out: 

“Come away, Dick, that beast’ll scratch out your eyes.”

“Wonder what it would do if I cuffed it?”

The Indian appeared to understand this, for he spoke sharply to the lynx, and going up to it patted its head and stroked its body lightly.  He then motioned to Dick to do the same.  To Dick’s great delight the wild-cat not only allowed him to stroke it, but even purred as well as a wild-cat can.

“Ned, I’ve got to have that cat.  I’ve given up all my other pets because you didn’t want them in the canoe, or there wasn’t room.  Now Tom will take care of himself and won’t need any toting.  Shouldn’t wonder if he’d feed himself, too.”

“That’s what I’m most afraid of.

“Don’t worry.  I won’t let him eat you.  Ask old Stick-in-the-mud there what he wants for his beastie.”

Ned talked with the Indian and reported to Dick.

“He says he will sell for one otter skin like that one in the canoe.”

“How could he see that skin from here?  Tell him it’s a whack.  Only he must make Tom go with me if there is any trouble about it.”

“He says wild-cat go with you, you brave boy, not afraid of him.  Says somebody get scared, he eat ’em up.”

“Ned, you old hypocrite, you made that up.”

“Honest Injun, I didn’t.  I told it straight, just as I got it.  That Indian likes you.”

“Why don’t he talk white man lingo to me, then, instead of his old gibberish that he can’t possibly understand himself?  Ask the old snoozer what’s cooking in that pot.  It smells bully and I’m hungry.”