rred vigorously, in the meantime muttering monotonously in
her own language.

"She isn't relying on the herbs alone," muttered Tom curiously
to himself. "She's working up some kind of incantation. I wonder
what effect she expects an Indian song to have on snake poison?"

Presently the squaw turned, bringing one of the cupfuls to the
wounded boy.

"Sit up," she ordered. "Drink!"

Tom nearly dropped it, it was so hot.

"Drink!" repeated the squaw.

"But it's so hot it'll burn my gullet out," remonstrated Reade.

"You know more I do?" demanded the squaw stolidly. "Drink!"

Tom took a sip, and shuddered from the intense heat of the stuff.

"Humph! White man him heap papoose!" muttered the squaw, scornfully.
"You want live, drink!"

Tom took a longer swallow of the hot stuff. Whew, but it was
bitter!

"The bronze lady is trying to turn me inside out!" gasped the
boy to himself.

"Drink---all down!" commanded the squaw with scarcely less scorn
than before in her voice.

This time Tom took a hard grip on himself and swallowed all the
liquid. For a moment, he thought the nauseating stuff would kill him.

"Now, eat grass," ordered the squaw.

"Meaning eat these herbs," demanded Tom, glancing up.

"Yes. Heap quick."

"To make a fellow eat these herbs after drinking the brew from
them is what I call rubbing it in," grimaced Reade.

"Now, this," continued the squaw, calmly handing a second cup
to Tom.

"It's all right for _you_ to be calm," thought Tom, as he took
the cup from her. "All you have to do is to stand by and watch
me. You don't have to drink any of these fearful messes."

However, Tom brought all his will power into play, swallowing
a second brew, compared with which the first had been delicious.

"Eat this grass, too"? inquired Tom, gazing at the squaw.

"Yes."

Tom obeyed.

"I shall be very, very careful not to meet any more snakes," he
shuddered, after getting the second dose down.

Now the squaw busied herself with spreading soaked herbs on a
piece of cloth that she had torn from one of Tom's white shirts'
to which she had helped herself from his dunnage box.

"What's a dollar shirt, anyway, when an interesting young man's
life is at stake" mused Reade. "Ow---ow---ooch!"

"You baby---papoose?" inquired the squaw calmly. She had slapped
on Tom's leg, over the bite, a poultice that, to his excited mind,
was four hundred degrees hotter than boiling water.

"Oh, no," gr