He said his name was "Coonskin," and Wisconsin the State of his nativity.
"I think he'll walk the rest of the way, Coonskin," said Pod, referring to me.
Coonskin spent the night lighting matches and hunting the pests.
Coonskin began picketing the donkeys, and promised to follow.
Next morning, to my surprise, Coonskin was the first to rise.
When Coonskin returned, he bore a pail of water in each hand.
Coonskin said it was no ghost dance, just a new kind of breakdown.
Now Coonskin called for me and said our evening meal was under way.
Judging from Coonskin's experiment, it looked too swift for my blood.
As soon as my entertainers departed, Coonskin and I sought our hostess.