I asked him where I would get my pay, and he told me he was paying me a compliment by letting me walk out of that camp alive.

I went to the cook shack and washed the blood off my face.

I was a pretty sick boy.

The cook was a native and was kind to me.
"Boy, you're liable to get lockjaw from that cut," he said.

"I'll put some of this horse liniment on it and it'll heal up." He then bandaged it with court-plaster.
"It's a long way back to New Orleans," the cook concluded.