Clicking accents he told Billy to tell the Okimow
that the pills were no good - not strong enough for him.
"Well," I said, "he shall surely have results this time." I gave
him three big ones in a cup of hot tea. All the Indians love tea,
and it seems to help them. Under its cheering power the old man's
tongue was loosened. He talked more clearly, and Billy, whose
knowledge of Chipewyan is fragmentary at best, suddenly said: "I'm
afraid I made, a mistake. Bezkya says the pills are too strong.
Can't you give him something to stop them?
"Goodness," I thought; "here's a predicament," but I didn't know
what to do. I remembered a western adage, "When you don't know a
thing to do, don't do a thing." I only said: "Tell Bezkya to go home,
go to bed, and stay there till to-morrow, then come here again."
Away went the Indian to his lodge. I felt rather uneasy that day
and night, and the next morning looked with some eagerness for the
return of Bezkya. But he did not come and I began to grow unhappy.
I wanted some evidence that I had not done him an injury. I wished
to see him, but professional etiquette forbade me betraying myself
by calling on him.
