CHAPTER VII

WHAT A SQUAW KNEW


All the way to camp Rutter kept the pony at a hard gallop.

"Thurston! Mr. Thurston!" he shouted. "Be quick, please!"

Even as the young man called, Mr. Thurston ran out of his tent.

"You know something about rattlesnake bites, I believe?" Rutter
went on hurriedly, as Tom Reade slipped to the ground. "The boy
has been bitten by one and we'll have to work quickly."

"Don't bring any liquor, though," objected Reade, leaning up against
a tree. "If liquor is your cure for snakebites I prefer to take
my chances with the bite."

"Get the shoe off and roll up the trousers," directed the chief
engineer, without loss of words. "Fortunately, I believe we have
someone here who knows more about treating the bites than I do.
Squaw!"

An Indian woman who had been sitting on the grass before the chief's
tent, a medley pack of Indian baskets arranged before her, glanced up.

"Snake! You know what to do," went on Mr. Thurston hurriedly. "You
know what to do----eh? Pay you well."