an, he fell to beating him with his
fists, to stimulate the lagging circulation. Heating the frying pan he
thrust it into the canvas bag and slipped it under the blankets and went
on with his beating. When the water began to boil, he withdrew the bag
and threw the tea into the kettle. Then he removed the outer blanket and
succeeded in rolling the unconscious form nearer to the fire. When he
uncovered the face he saw that the man was an Indian--a young buck of
twenty-five or thirty, and he wondered the more at his plight. Removing
the kettle from the fire, he set it beside him and succeeded in propping
the Indian's head upon his knees. With a tin cup, he dipped some
scalding tea from the kettle and allowing it to cool a little, dropped a
small quantity between the man's lips. At the third dose, the Indian
shuddered slightly, his lips moved, and he swallowed feebly. The next
time he swallowed as much as a spoonful, and then, double that amount.
After that his recovery was rapid. Before the cup was half empty he had
opened his eyes and blinked foolishly into Connie's face. He gulped
eagerly at the hot liquid, but the boy would allow him only a mouthful
at a time. When the cup was empty Connie refilled it. The Indian's lips
moved. He seemed to be trying to speak.

"Talk English?" encouraged the boy with a smile.

The other nodded: "Yes--_kloshe wawa_--me spik good."

"What's your name--_kahta mika nem_?"

The Indian seemed delighted to find that the boy could speak the jargon.
He smiled: "_Nika nem_ 'Merican Joe." And having imparted the
information, plunged into a rabble of jargon that the boy was at his
wit's end to follow.

He stopped him in the middle of it: "Look here, 'Merican Joe, you talk
English--she best to talk. You know all 'bout English?"

"Yes."

"Well, you talk it then. Listen--I've got a camp over across the ridge.
Plenty grub. I go get grub. You stay here. Half an hour I come back. We
eat big."

The Indian nodded vigorously, and as Connie turned toward the door he
recoiled, and involuntarily drew the knife from his belt. For there,
standing close beside the fire, his head and huge shoulders thrust into
the doorway, his eyes gleaming like live coals, stood the great grey
leader of the wolf pack!

'Merican Joe struggled to his elbow and stretched his hand toward the
superb brute: "Ah, come Leloo! _Nika skookum tkope leloo!_" (My big
white wolf). With a bound the great animal was at the Indian's sid