Kanza the Martian croaker, was bending over me when I woke up. His little brown face was crinkled with laughter. He’d lost most of his teeth, and he gummed thak-w**d. It smelt.
thak“You pretty, Mis’ Jig,” he giggled. “You funny like hell.”
He slapped some cold greasy stuff on my face. It hurt. I cursed him and said, “Where’s Shannon? How is he?”
“Mis’ Bucky okay. You save life. You big hero, Mis’ Jig. Mis’ Gow come nickuhtime get snakes. You hero. Haw! You funny like hell!”
I said, “Yeah,” and pushed him away and got up. I almost fell down a couple of times, but presently I made it to the mirror over the washstand—I was in my own cell—and I saw what Kanza meant. The damned snakes had done a good job. I looked like I was upholstered in Scotch plaid. I felt sick.
Bucky Shannon opened th
