he poor
fellow being in a half-fainting condition from a frightful wound in the
right thigh.

As he was laid down on his back he began to come-to, and looked wildly
round, while when he saw my uncle approach him knife in hand, he set his
teeth and made a fierce attempt to rise.

But Cross was holding him from behind, and the poor fellow was helpless.
He evidently believed that his enemy was about to put him to death, and
on finding that he could not help himself he seemed ready to calmly
accept his fate, for he fixed his eyes upon my uncle with a bitter,
contemptuous smile, and then folded his arms and lay there like an image
cast in bronze.

It was not a fierce countenance, being smooth, large-eyed, and disposed
to be effeminate and plump, while when my uncle busied himself over the
terrible wound with the knife, and must have given the man excruciating
pain, he did not even wince, but kept gazing hard at his surgeon who
tortured him, as if proud and defiant to the last.

His expression only began to change when he saw the knife laid aside and
Pete bring some water in the tin for my uncle to bathe the wound; and
now it was full of wonder as the place was covered with lint from the
pocket-book, and then carefully bandaged from the supply ready against
accidents.

"There, my fine fellow," said my uncle at last; "now if you keep quiet,
you being a healthy fellow, young and strong, that bad wound will soon
heal. If you had left us alone you would not have got it. You don't
understand, of course; but you must lie still."

The Indian's countenance changed more than ever. He had fully grasped
the fact that he was not to be slain, and also that his wound had been
carefully dressed, and with his fierce aspect completely gone, he took
hold of the hand with which my uncle was pressing him back to lie still,
and held it against his forehead, smiling up at him the while; and then
he sank back and closed his eyes.

"It's a bad wound, Nat, but he'll get over it. That must have been your
shot."

"Why not yours?" I said. "I couldn't shoot with that arrow through
me."

"But you did, for it was done with the big swan pellets, and I had
nothing but dust shot in my gun, for the little birds."

"Oh!" I cried wonderingly.

"Ah, that's why you made that poor fellow cry."

As I lay and thought afterwards I was to my dissatisfaction convinced
that mine had been the hand which fired the shot, and the knowledge of
this som