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Colorow'd take a spoonful of soup, and spit.
Spit alongside the table, a villainous thing,
But I durst not say a word. When they were fi nished
Colorow mumbled something in Indian
And one of the squaws gave a buckskin to my wife.
She hardly knew what it was or what to do with it.
I was in the offi
ce later when Colorow
Came back. He was a terribly big Ute --
Blocked out the light and darkened the whole front.
He stood there holding his stomach with both hands.
I was a little afraid, about the dinner.
He said, `Heap sick.' I said, `Been drinking whiskey?'
`No, eat too much. Want doctor.' -- `Doctor's gone,'
I told him. He said, `You give me medicine.'
Now I was kind of scared. I did not know
But what he would go for me. I thought the best
I could do would be to give him some Epsom salts.
I knew it wouldn't kill him. I got a cup
And fi lled it, nearly, and he had a hard time
To get it down, and had to take a great deal
Of water with it. Then he went away.
Next morning, going down to the gulch
For a pail of water, I met my friend coming up.
He must have weighed 275, usually,
But now he looked like an umbrella cover.
We stopped, I thought I had better face the music.
`No good. White man heap bad.' -- `Why, Colorow,
What is the matter?' -- `Pretty near die. Want doctor.'
I helped him up to the store. Then I fetched the doctor,
And when I told him what the trouble was,