ian custom to treat
the stranger as his guest.

Boston awoke in the still dark hours before dawn and lay thinking over
Doctor Tom's story and the demeanor of the man who had wandered into
camp. A cry clove through the silence of the night like a lightning
flash through a black cloud, and as the gloom becomes deeper after the
flash, so the silence seemed more intense and oppressive after that
cry. It came from across the canyon, clear and far, a cry of mortal
terror.

It is a panther, thought Boston, and he listened for its repetition or
an answer from the mate, but the stillness was unbroken. He turned
over to see if Doctor Tom had heard or noticed it, and thought the dark
bundle by the side of the log seemed rather small for the sleeping
Indian. Boston got up and walked over to the log. Doctor Tom's
blanket only was there. Boston looked for the musket; it was in its
old place against the tree. His own rifle was undisturbed. Boston
concluded that Doctor Tom had gone for water or was off on some
incomprehensible Indian freak, the reason of which was not worth a
white man's time to puzzle out, rolled up in his blanket again and
became oblivious to the realities around him.

It was daylight when Boston awoke again. Doctor Tom had not returned.
Boston made a fire, and while cooking breakfast he noticed that the
Indian's long knife was gone from the log where he had left it sticking
after supper. He halloed to Tom, but received no answer save the echo.
Calmly confident of Doctor Tom's ability to look out for himself,
Boston went about his business without more ado, ate his breakfast and
was taking a second cup of coffee when Doctor Tom came into camp,
silent and grave as usual, but rather paler. He came from the
direction of the canyon.

The Indian drank some coffee and then carefully took his left arm with
his right hand from the bosom of his shirt, where it had been resting,
and said, "Broke um." Boston examined the arm and found that it was
badly bruised and broken above the elbow. He heated some water and
bathed the arm and then told Tom to brace his breast against a tree and
hold on with his right arm. Boston took hold of the left arm on the
opposite side of the tree, braced his feet and pulled. Rough splints
were soon made and applied, and a big horn of whiskey made Doctor Tom
feel more comfortable. While making the splints Boston asked Tom for
his knife, having carefully mislaid his own. "Lose um