o do."

"Where is the sick boy?" asked Keith. "I should like to see him."

"In the chief's lodge. Come, I will take you to him."

The youth was lying upon several rugs on the floor, breathing hard. He
was only a stripling, but noted for his rare skill in the chase and
endurance on the trail.

The Medicine Man was by his side, holding the conjurer's rattle in his
hand. He paused in his hideous, mournful noise when he beheld his
hated rival enter the building.

This time the old chief gave no sign of welcome, but sat on the floor
with his knees drawn up to his chin, and head bent forward in token of
grief.

"Pale-face brought evil upon my boy," he said fiercely, when Shrahegan
addressed him. "If he die the stranger must answer for it."

This Keith well knew, and unless something was done at once, not even
Shrahegan's protection could save him from the angry Indians incited by
the conjurer.

"Great chief," he said, advancing to the bowed figure, "cannot the
Medicine Man cure your son?"

"No," came the fierce response.

"Does he say he will die?"

"Yes, he will die."

"Well, then, great chief, will you let me examine the youth, I am a
doctor, too, and perhaps I can do something to help your son."

Before an answer could be given, the Medicine Man leaped before the
missionary and in wild rage gave vent to his fury. He danced,
screamed, and denounced the pale-face stranger in the most violent
terms.

For a time this was permitted, and then into Shrahegan's face came a
look of determination. With one grip of his powerful hand he seized
the conjurer by the arm, shook him like a rat, and sent him tumbling
out of the lodge.

The Indians within the room looked aghast at such a move, and half
expected the house to collapse, or something terrible to happen. It
was a thing unknown for any one to meddle with the "doctor," and of
this Shrahegan was well aware. But it seemed to disturb him not in the
least. He turned quietly to the missionary.

"Examine the sick boy," he said. "Shrahegan gives you permission to
look at his brother."

"Is it the will of the great chief of the Quelchies?" asked Keith,
turning towards the old man.

Receiving only a nod in reply, he at once stepped to the side of the
prostrate lad, and made a careful examination of his condition.

"He is very sick," he quietly remarked.

"What is the matter?" asked Shrahegan anxiously.

"A high fever."

"Not an evil spirit?"

"The