2 CHRONICLES OF THE CARIBOO

Dunlevey noted all this shrewdly, appreciating the Indian’s evident
friendliness as he replied with his ingratiating smile: “Yes, we hear
about bad Chilcotins over there; but I guess ‘we ‘can take care of
ourselves,” indicating with a grin the long Kentucky rifles now in
the hands of his partners, then added: “But you good Indian? Friendly
anyway. You tell Whiteman watch out. You not like Chilcotin?”

“Nowitka, yas,” replied the Indian. “No like Chilcotin. Oh some
good mans, some mean buckas. Some nice womans, hiyoo plitty,”
gesturing with a grin, “but mos’ wil’ buckas. Like fight Shuswap.
Fight Yabatan—Fort ’Lexander Injins—steal klootchmans” (women).

“Mmm!” considered Dunlevey, grinning in turn. “You sound like
you could steal a pretty woman yourself if you had a chance, young
man! Yes, and fight for her like blazes too, by the look of you. But
what’s your hame and where do you come from?”

“Me name Tomaah,” replied the. Indian gravely, probably not
quite getting the significance of Dunlevey’s remarks. “Kamloops niha.
illihee. Kamloops Tyee nika papa. Me wuk Hudsam Bayh. Now me
come Fo’t Yale. Go Fo’t ’Lexander pack paper for Hudsam Bayh
Tyee. What you do dat one?” again queried the Indian, pointing to
the rocker.

“Oh, I see. Hudson’s Bay Indian runner, eh?” said Dunlevey.
“Well, you do look as though you could run some as well as fight and
steal pretty women,” he continued, sizing up again the young Indian’s
lithe yet powerful form appreciatively. “And you do look like a chief’s
son at that. Come, I’ll show you what we do with that one.” Leading
the Indian to the rocker, where two of his partners were again busy
with the wash up, the others standing near, he said to them: “I guess,
boys, this should be a lesson to us. We'll have to be more watchful
or we'll have those Chilcotin savages sneaking up on us as this fellow
did.” Then to the Indian: “We miners. Wash gold. You savvy goid?”

“Gol’?” queried the Indian, evidently puzzled. “No savvy. Halo - 7

kumtux gol’.”

“Will you listen to that, fellahs?” cried the no less puzzled and
astonished miner. ‘He says he doesn’t savvy gold! Here, I show you.”
Then picking up cne of the largest flakes of gold on the bottom of
the rocker, he showed it to the Indian. “That gold. All same money.
Good money.” |

The Indian took it between his finger- and thumbnails and whip-
ping out his sheath knife began to cut at the gold flake, which was
about the size of a large flake of wheat bran. “Haah! Yas!” he
exclaimed presently. “Niki kumtux ookook! Me know dat one.
Dat you call gol’? But small cne, too much tanass. Me know ka
higoo beeg one stop. Lots um.”

“Big ones? How big?” exclaimed the miner, interested at once.

“Oh, all same,” said the Indian, picking up a small pebble about
the size and shape of a Lillooet bean. “Some like dat. Some more
small.”