the little lake before the house and into a sluggish
creek running into it from the northeast. The Indian wore the
mauve-tinted, gaudily embroidered dress shirt of his tribe, but as a
concession to civilization he had donned a pair of overalls so much too
large for him that the belt was high round his strapping chest.

"What name did she call you by, Willy?" asked the engineer.

"Me Willy Tiger."

"Tiger doesn't fit you, Willy."

Higgins dipped his hand overboard and sprinkled water on the Indian's
head.

"I hereby christen you Willy High Pockets. And may they never be
empty."

An awful contortion took place upon the Seminole's mahogany features.
He was trying to grin.

"You give good Seminole why-o-me," he said, ceasing his paddling to rub
his stomach. "Willy Tiger----"

"High Pockets!"

"Willy High Pock' sick. Why-o-me make strong."

"So that's how they miscall hooch down in this country," ruminated
Higgins. "No, Willy; we don't pack any liquor. Shall I give him a
piece of plug?"

"Suit yourself--if you've got any."

"Got any? Never go into an Indian country without it."

Higgins produced from his bag a slab of plug tobacco which made Willy's
mouth water.

"Willy," said Payne suddenly, "who is Mr. Garman?"

"Donno."

"Put your tobacco away, Higgins."

"Garman big boss," said the Indian swiftly.
"_Esoka-bonus-che_-tobacco. You give."

"Boss of what?"

Without taking his eyes from the plug Willy's right arm described an
eloquent arc embracing the earth, the water, the sky, about them.

"Big boss--all country! Good tobacco. Strong----"

"Boss of the whole country, eh? What business is he in?"

"Donno."

"Where is he now?"

"Donno."

"What makes him boss of this country?"

"Donno."

"And there you are," laughed Higgins. "Willy looks different from a
regular Indian; but they're all alike. He loosened up to get this
piece of plug; now he 'dunno' anything."

"Donno," repeated Willy monotonously.

As the dugout scraped and stuck on the bottom the Indian doffed his
overalls and displayed the full gorgeousness of the Seminole dress
shirt. Payne wondered how in the souls of these swamp dwellers there
had developed a taste for a hue as delicate as the pink of the
flamingo. Bands of red, yellow, scarlet, mauve and black were
embroidered upon the cloth, and upon the shoulders were scarlet tufts
resembling epaulets. Willy stepped overboard, barefooted and nude save
for hi