rum and
provisions, and then he agreed to go in his own canoe and bring Simeon
to the yacht, where the exchange was to be effected. Why he hesitated
remained a mystery, unless Ponsonby's knowledge of herbs had made him
of value to the tribe.

French immediately ordered the various tins and boxes, containing the
supply of food promised, to be placed conspicuously on the deck as an
earnest of his honesty in the barter, and when a small keg of rum was
added, the satisfaction was complete; four or five Indians followed
their leader into his canoe and paddled up the river.

They were gone so long--over three hours--that French began to curse
his folly in trusting them, and he was about to follow them up in the
launch, when he saw their canoe coming round a bend in the stream. At
the first glance it seemed filled with Indians only, and it was not
until it was actually alongside that he detected a mummy-like form
lying in the stern, which he guessed to be Simeon.

Half a dozen sturdy arms made the transfer, by means of a hammock,
from the canoe to the yacht, and Simeon, alive but quite unconscious,
was laid on the deck. He had probably been subjected by the removal to
more pain than in his enfeebled condition he could bear, and it
required long and patient exertion on the part of the doctor before he
was revived from his syncope.

His condition was pitiable; from an injury to the spine he was a
helpless cripple, while the arm which had been broken in his fall had
knit in a way to render it perfectly useless. He was fearfully
emaciated, probably from the lack of palatable food, and his
expression was vacant.

French gave up his own deck cabin, the most commodious in size, and
before another hour had passed Simeon was lying in a comfortable bed,
clean, warm, devotedly tended, but apparently dying.

For forty-eight hours they kept the yacht within the shelter of the
river, fearing the effect of motion on that feeble flame of life, but
the warmth and nourishment soon began to tell, and on the third day he
recognized French, and tried to murmur some words of gratitude and
pleasure.

That night Stephen called the doctor into his own room and shut the
door. He wanted to put a very simple question, one which might have
been asked anywhere out of Simeon's hearing, and yet the effort seemed
almost beyond his powers.

"Can he live?"

The words came in such a hoarse, unnatural voice that the doctor, a
sensitive man, feared to