"But, Looey," he says, "I'm done with country
hotels from now on. They've got the last cent
they ever will from me--at least in the summer
time."
"How you going to work it?" Looey asts him,
like he hasn't no hopes it will work right.
"Camp out," says the doctor. "I've been think-
ing it all over." Then he turns to me. "Rube,"
he says, "where are you going?"
"Well," I says, "I ain't pinted nowhere in per-
tic'ler except away from that town we just left.
Which my name ain't Rube, Doctor Kirby, but
Danny."
"Danny what?" asts he.
"Nothing," says I, "jest Danny."
"Well, then, Danny," says he, "how would you
like to be an Indian?"
"Medical?" asts I, "or real?"
"Like Looey," says he.
I tells him being a medical Injun and mixed up
with a show like his'n would suit me down to the
ground, and asts him what is the main duties of
one besides the blankets and the feathers.
"Well," he says, "this camping-out scheme of
mine will take a couple of Indians. Instead of pay-
ing hotel and feed bills we'll pitch our tent," he
says, "at the edge of town in each sweet Auburn of
the plains. We'll save money and we'll be near the
throbbing heart of nature. And an Indian camp
in each place will be a good advertisement for the
Sagraw. You can look after the horses and learn
to do the cooking and that kind o' thing.
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