"We stripped him [a poacher] and spread eagled him outside my cabin and lashed the holy blue sweat out of him with nettle stalks and leaves, concentrating on the places where it might hurt a mite. Wow, I never knew such little fellows had such big things. ... I then went through the ordinary 'sumu,' black magic routine of Mace, ether, needles and masks, and ended with sleeping pills. ... That is called 'conservation'—not talk."