"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. "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.