"How did you get that packet?" asked Kit. "Found it." He spoke short as if he was done talking. It seemed that he had told us the truth, so far; but if we kept questioning him much more he might get tired or cross, and lie. We might ask foolish questions, too; and foolish questions are worse than no questions. We had done a good job on this man, as appeared to us. We had bathed his face, and had exposed the worst burns on his body and arms and legs and had covered them with carbolized vaseline and gauze held on with adhesive plaster, and had cleaned the wound in his leg. It was a regular hole, but we didn't ask him how he got it. 'Twas in mighty bad shape, for it hadn't been attended to right and was dirty and swollen. Cold clear water dripped into it to flush it and clean it and reduce the inflammation would have been fine, but we didn't have that kind of water handy; so we sifted some boric powder into it and over it and bound on it a pad of dry sterilized gauze, but not too tight. I asked him if there was a bullet or anything else in it, and he said no. He had run against a stick. This was about all that we could do to it, and play safe by not poking into it too much. (Note 54.) He seemed to feel pretty good, now, and sat up. "Well," he said, "now I've given you boys your message and told you what I know, and you've fixed me up, so I'll be movin' on. Where are those things I used to call shoes?" We exchanged glances. He was the beaver man. "We aren't through yet," I said. "Oh, I reckon you are," he answered. "I'm much obliged. Pass me the shoes, will you?" "No; wait," said Kit Carson. "What for?" He was beginning to growl. "Till you're all fixed." "I'm fixed enough." "We'll dress some of those wounds over again." "No, you won't. Pass me those shoes." They were hidden behind a tree. "Can't you wait a little?" "No, I can't wait a little." He was growling in earnest. "Will you pass me those shoes?" "No, we won't," announced Kit. He was getting angry, too. "You pass me those shoes or something is liable to happen to you mighty sudden. I'll break you in two." "I'll get the rifle," said Jed, and started; but I called him back. We didn't need a rifle. "He can't do anything in bare feet like that," I said. And he couldn't. His feet were too soft and burned. That is why we kept the shoes, of course. "I can't, eh?" "No. We aren't afraid." He started to stand, and then he sat back again. "I'll put a hole in some of you," he muttered; and felt at the side of his chest. But if he had carried a gun in a Texas holster there, it was gone. "Say, you, what's the matter with you?" he queried. "What do you want to keep me here for?" "You'd better wait. We'll stay, too." He glared at us. Then he began to wheedle. "Say, what'd I ever do to you? Didn't I give you back that message, and tell you all I knew? Didn't I help you out as much as I could?" "Sure," we said. "Then what have you got it in for me for?"