"These natives can doctor themselves for
some things, better than we can."
"Well, we'll take him home," suggested Tom.
"He might keel over from loss of blood.
Come on," he added to Tal, indicating his object.
It was not far to the native's hut from the place
where the jaguar had been killed, and there Tom
and Ned underwent another demonstration of affection
as soon as those of Tal's immediate family and the
other natives understood what had happened.
"I hate this business!" complained Tom, after
having been knelt to by the Indian's wife and
child, who called him the "preserver" and other
endearing titles of the same kind. "Come on,
let's hike back."
But Indian hospitality, especially after a life
has been saved, is not so simple as all that.
"My life--my house--all that I own is yours,"
said Tal in deep gratitude. "Take everything,"
and he waved his hand to indicate all the possessions
in his humble hut.
"Thanks," answered Tom, "but I guess you
need all you have. That's a fine specimen of
blow gun though," he added, seeing one hanging
on the wall. "I wouldn't mind having one like
that. If you get well enough to make me one,
Tal, and some arrows to go with it, I'd like it
for a curiosity to hang in my room at home."
"The Senor shall have a dozen," promised the
Indian.
"Look, Ned," went on Tom, pointing to the
native weapon. "I never saw one just like this.
They use small arrows or darts, tipped with wild
cotton, instead of feathers.
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